GIFT  OF 
Eleanor  Corde 


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Dean  Swift 


.JroM  a  // 


jonamun  ■  /nr// 


Dean  Swift 

A  Drama 

In  Four  Scenes,  Four  Acts  and  an  Epilogue. 


Period  of  Queen  Anne,  1716 


ELEANOR  CORDE,  Author 


Copyrighted  in  thm  United  States  and  Great  Britain 


(This  play  is  fully  protected  by  copyright  law,  all  requirements 
of  which  have  been  complied  with.  In  its  present  printed  form  it 
is  dedicated  to  the  reading  public  only,  and  no  performance  may 
be  given  except  by  special  permission  from  the  owner  of  the 
acting  rights,    who   may  be   addressed   in   care   of   the   publisher.) 


McBride  Publishing  Co., 

Los  Angeles,  Cal. 

mcmxxii. 


Copyright  1922  in  the 
United  States  and  Great  Britain 
by 
Eleanor   Corde 


Q^AjZ&fl-^ 


Foreword 


In  the  18th  century,  during  the  troubled  reign  of 
Queen  Anne,  an  obscure  Irish  clergyman  arrived  in 
London.  But  when  it  became  known  that  he  was 
the  author  of  "The  Battle  of  the  Books"  both  Whigs 
and  Tories  fought  for  the  aid  of  his  powerful  pen. 

Now,  Jonothan  Swift  was  a  Whig — but  a 
Churchman  first.  So  he  threw  in  his  fortunes  with 
the  Tories  and  became,  within  six  months,  a  Tory 
Chief  without  a  portfolio.  According  to  Johnson, 
"Swift  was  the  Dictator  of  the  politics  of  the  Eng- 
lish nation/' 

For  reward,  the  Premier  offered  him  money,  which 
Swift  refused  with  scorn;  with  flattery,  which  also 
failed ;  with  power ;  which  Swift  accepted,  taking  the 
helm  of  State  into  his  own  hands.  In  the  eloquent 
language  of  The  London  Times,  "Swift  was  the 
Government;  Swift  was  the  Queen,  the  Lords  and 
the  Commons. "  And  had  Anne  listened  less  to  back- 
stair  influence,  Swift  had  died  a  spiritual  Peer. 

Two  splendid  women  loved  Swift  and  he  loved 
both.  But  to  discover  how  he  rewarded  each  has  re- 
mained a  mystery — the  despair  of  historians,  becom- 
ing for  the  past  two  hundred  years  a  never- failing 
source  for  debate — as  lively  a  topic  for  the  world 
as  though  the  three  actors  in  the  splendid  drama 
walked  the  streets  of  today. 

This  play  is  based  upon  that  mystery — the  identity 
of  the  woman  that  Swift  really  loved;  the  author 
solving  it  by  its  results — the  wrecking  of  Swift's 
happiness  and  that  of  the  two  women  who  so  de- 
votedly loved  him. 

— E.  C. 


5710^1 


PERSONS  IIS  THE  PLAY 

Jonothan  Swift  (Dean  of  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral 
Dublin) 

Charles  Ford  (Dublin  gentleman) 

Richard  Hayes  (English  dragoon) 

Lord  Oxford  (Treasurer  of  the  Tory  ministry) 

Viscompte  Bolinbroke  (Tory  Secretary  of  State) 

Erasmus  Lewis  (Under  Secretary  of  State) 

Dr.  Delany  (Dublin  patriot) 

Lord  Lovelace  (English  fop) 

Harcourt  (English  Politician) 

Stella  Johnson  (Swift's  ward) 

Esther  Van  Homrigh  (Swift's  London  friend  and 
pupil) 

Duchess  of  Marlbro   (Swift's  political  enemy) 

Mistress  Van  Homrigh  (Esther's  mother) 

Molly  Van  Homrigh  (Esther's  sister) 

Mistress  Dingley  (Swift's  house-keeper) 

Ladies  Tattleton  and  Nettleton  (Of  the  English 
Court) 

Misstresses  Walsh  and  Gran  nan  (Her  twin  girls)  and 
Mistress  Delany  (Of  Dublin) 

Patrick  (Swift's  peasant-servant) 

Jeems  (Footman  in  the  Von  Homrigh  home) 

Preceptor  and  Choristers  (Of  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral) 

Duchess'  mute  servant,  lords  and  ladies,  footmen, 
(All  of  London) 

Lord  Mayor,  citizens  (All  of  Dublin) 


ACTI. 

Sitting-room  in  the  Deanery  of  St.  Patrick's 

Cathedral,  Dublin.     Sunny  Morning 

in  April,  1716 

ACT  II. 

Drawing-room  in  the  Van  Homrigh  Home,  London. 
Three  Months  Later 

ACT  III. 

Lord  Oxford's  Gardens,  London.    Evening  of  Same 

Day 

ACT  IV.  (Scene  First) 
Sitting-room  of  the  Deanery.    Two  Months  Later 

ACT  IV.  (Scene  Second) 

(Instant  Rise  of  Curtain.)     Sacristy  of  St.  Patrick's 
Cathedral,   Dublin 

EPILOGUE 

Sitting-room  of  the  Deanery.     Twenty-five  Years 

Later 


Dean  Swift 


ACT  FIRST 

Scene,  Sitting-room  in  the  Deanery  of  St.  Patrick's 
Cathedral,  Dublin,  Ireland.  Sunny  morning  in  April, 
1716. 

A  shallow  room  taking  up  the  entire  width  of  stage.  The 
entrance  door  1,  at  left,  opens  inward,  showing  a  bit 
of  green  lawn  beyond.  Above  this  door  is  a  two-paned 
window,  opening  against  inner  wall.  Door  2  at 
back-centre,  up  few  shallow  steps,  opens  out  into  a 
room,  shows  a  table  and  few  chairs,  supposed  to  be  the 
dining-room.  Door  3  at  right,  opens  outward  onto 
a  corridor.  To  right  of  door  1  is  a  quaintly-carved 
mantel-shelf  holding  vases  of  simple  flowers.  Beneath 
this  shelf  are  several  wooden  pegs  that  serve  as  a  hat- 
rack.  The  open  fire-place  below  is  filled  with  green 
boughs.  Down  right-front  is  a  wire  stand  of  blooming 
plants.  Beyond  this  a  wooden  settee.  To  right  of 
door  2  is  a  hanging  shelf.  On  it  several  volumes 
simply  bound,  a  short,  yellow  silken  curtain  half- 
drawn  over  same.  A  large  round  table  drawn  front- 
centre  holds  ink-pot,  quills,  sand-box,  a  large  ledger  and 
a  pile  of  coins.  On  a  wooden  chair  to  right  of  table  is 
a  large  wicker  basket  filled  with  simple  aprons,  little 
knitted  shawls,  a  pair  of  children's  shoes,  a  frilled 
muslin  cap  and  a  pair  of  clumsy  men's  boots.  At  left 
of  table  is  the  only  rich-looking  article  in  sight — 
Swift's   massively-framed,    velvet-covered   arm-chair, 


2  DEAN     SWIFT 

its  back  rising  into  a  quaint  twist.  A  simply  quaintly- 
furnished,  attractive  room,  but  almost  hinting  of 
poverty. 

At  rise.  Stella  Johnson,  aged  twenty-two,  stands  at  the 
table  intent  on  a  page  of  the  ledger  and  the  different 
articles  in  the  basket.  In  an  age  of  powder  and  beauty- 
spots  she  wears  neither.  Brown-haired,  lovely,  simply 
dressed,  her  face  wears  a  pleased  smile,  and  though 
she  is  English,  her  animated  manner  suggests  the 
Latin. 

Mistress  Dingley,  Swift's  house-keeper,  aged  forty,  in 
black  dress,  black  apron  and  keys  at  belt,  with  gray 
hair  primly  tucked  into  a  mob  cap,  sits  grim-visaged, 
off  to  right,  working  on  a  large  white  cotton  square 
while  she  watches  her  companion  with  disapproving 
looks. 

Dingley. 

Chut — pish — .  Botherin'  yer  head,  child,  wi'  that  bas- 
ket— .  When  Swift's  beggars  shud  be  seekin'  work  an' 
not  clutterin'  up  the  Deanery  steps  for  something  to  cover 
their  nakedness — .  Sure — to  go  naked  shud  be  teachin' 
em'  a  lesson — 

Stella. 

[Consulting  ledger  and  picking  up  articles.]  Two 
knitted  shawls — there  should  be  three — Ah — here's  the 
third — 

Dingley. 

Chut — pah!    [Holding  up  square.]    See,  Stella,  child — 

Stella. 
Three  aprons — two  caps — .    What  is  it,  Dingley,  dear  ? 


DEAN     SWIFT  3 

DlNGLEY. 

Why — this  square — finished  at  last  and  am  that  glad — 
Ah-h-h— 

Stella. 

[Teasingly.]  Tis  a  gift  for  that  gossiping  friend  o' 
yours  'cross  the  channel — who  writes  you  those  1-o-n-g 
letters ! 

DlNGLEY. 

Aye — 'tis  for  Mistress  White,  o'  Lunnun.  [Sighingly] 
Ah-h-h— 

Stella. 

London's  like  heaven — isn't  it,  Dingley,  dear? 

DlNGLEY. 

Aye — 'tis  what  I've  thought  sin'  we've  come  to  live 
here  in  Dublin.    A-h — me! 

Stella. 

An  apron  for  the  little  Widow  Mac — this  frilled  cap 
for  Granny  O'Toole — [putting  on  cap  roguishly.]  An' 
how  d'ye  like  me,  Dingley,  dear? 

DlNGLEY. 

Chut — pish — bah!  Wi'  Swift's  grannies  and  his 
widows !  'Tis  no  wonder  they  crowd  round  him  in  the 
streets  to  knale  an'  kiss  his  hand — for  what?  But  to  get 
frilled  caps  an'  aprons!  'Tis  said  that  Swift  buys  up  all 
their  nadles  and  pins  an'  gives  'em  back  to  some  "poor 
widdy"  at  the  very  next  corner — 

Stella. 
A  shawl  for  old  Stumphanympha — 


4  DEAN     SWIFT 

DlNGLEY. 

Pah! — 'tis  a  quare  trick  o'  Swift's  to  be  namin'  his 
poor — 

Stella. 
And  boots  for  the  Duke  o'  Daily-gate — 

DlNGLEY. 

Pah! — bekase  ould   Dally  hants  the  Deanery  gate — 
Swift's  christened  him  a  jooke — 

Stella. 
A  shawl  for  old  Tearagowns — 

DlNGLEY. 

Ha  ha! — the  Dean's  christened  the  ould  slattern  right 
that  time. 

Stella. 

And  shoes  for  the  two  little  Kelleys — [A  sudden  roar 
of  voices  front  beyond  door.]    Hark — 

DlNGLEY. 

'Tis  the  Dean's  beggars.    Faith — they're  gettin'  weary 
o'  waitin'  for  the  Dean's  "bounty."    Ha  ha — 

Stella. 
Nay,  Dingley,  they  are  the  Dean's  parishioners — [go- 
ing to  door  2,  opening  it  and  calling.]  Patrick — [return- 
ing at  table.  Enter  Patrick,  aged  thirty-five,  red- 
cheeked,  tousel-headed,  shrewd  Irish  peasant.  Patrick 
pretends  fear  of  Dingley  when  she  speaks  to  him,  giving 
a  little  "lape"  on  those  occasions.] 

Dingley. 
Aye,  aye — young  rascal — wastin'  time  at  the  kitchen 
door  when  ye  shud  be  doin'  your  chores — 


DEAN     SWIFT  5 

Patrick. 
Yis'm — no,  m'm — [saluting  Stella.]     Yis,  Miss? 

Stella. 
Patrick,  take  this  basket  out. 

Patrick. 
[Shouldering  basket.]     Yis'm. 

Dingley. 
An'  place  it  out  o'  rach  o'  them  beggars  lest  they  steal 
it,  basket  an'  all — 

Patrick. 
Yes,  m'm — [opening  door  1.  A  babble  of  moans,  cries, 
etc.,  comes  from  beyond.    Patrick  closes  the  door  again 
with  a  comical  look  to  Stella.] 

Stella. 
They're  too  near  the  door,  Patrick — Bid  them  move 
far  beyond  the  sacristy — 

Patrick. 
[Saluting.]      Yis,    Miss — [exit   door  1.      The    babel 
again  heard  but  fading  off  later.     Stella  stands  at  the 
table  and  begins  to  count  the  coins  there  with  doleful 
looks.] 

Dingley. 
The   brazen   beggars — 'tis   the   street   they   shud   be 
waitin'  in.     Hantin'  the  Deanery  gates  as  though  Swift 
had  the  wealth  o'  the  Indies. 

Stella. 
How  few  shillings — how  few!     [Going  to  bookshelf, 
taking  a  small  china  box  from  behind  books,  peering  with- 
in, shaking  her  head  dolefully,  replacing  box  and  return- 
ing to  coins  on  table.]     Ah-h — [again  counting  coins.] 


6  DEAN     SWIFT 

DlNGLEY. 

Hah,  child — Ye'd  better  be  handin'  over  them  shillings 
to  me,  for  the  Deanery  kitchen  nades  new  crockery — . 
Aha —  'twas  a  cracked  plate  that  the  Dean  ate  his  break- 
fast off  this  mornin'.  Him  as  used  to  be  dinin'  in  Lunnun 
wi'  jooks  an'  lords  off  gold  an'  silver  dishes — ha  ha — . 

Stella. 
Just — twenty  shillings — No  more! 

DlNGLEY. 

'Tis  just  two  months  sin'  those  Tories  made  a  Dean  out 
o'  Swift — .  Aha — oho — 'Twas  a  bishop's  gown  he'd 
counted  on — would  ha'  gotten  it,  too,  but  for  Duchess 
what's-her-name.  What's  the  name  o'  Swift's  Duchess, 
child? 

Stella. 

Marlbro — Marlbro — .    Don't  bother  me,  Dingley,  dear. 

Patrick. 
[Re-entering  -with  suppressed  merriment.]     Miss? 

Stella. 
Patrick? 

Patrick. 
Another  nady  wan,  Miss — .    A  new  wan — . 

Stella. 
Another?     Dear  me,  Patrick — . 

Patrick. 
Tim  Casey — as  wuz  nivir  known  to  wor-r-k  a  day — . 

DlNGLEY. 

Won't  work  ?    He  shud  be  hung  instead  o'  fed — . 


DEAN     SWIFT  7 

Patrick. 
[To  Stella.]     An'  the  father  o'  six  childer — . 

DlNGLEY. 

Six  children?    He  shud  be  hung  an'  quartered — . 

Stella. 
Bid  the  poor  man  wait  with  the  others — . 

Patrick. 
Yis,  Miss — [Exit  door  1  again.] 

Stella. 
Ah — the  poor  Dean's  list  of  poor  helpless  ones  grows 
longer  daily — . 

DlNGLEY. 

Aye — an'  'twill  bring  his  proud  spirit  to  the  dust  when 
he's  no  longer  able  to  feed  his  beggars — that  follow  him 
in  crowds — .     Faugh! 

Stella. 
Nay,  Dingley,  just  as  those  Londons  beggars  did. 

DlNGLEY. 

Ah — but  aren't  English  beggars  a  more  dacent  lot? 

Stella. 

Silly  Dingley — that  can  see  nothing  good  on  earth  lest 
'tis  English — [Beginning  to  dust  Swift's  chair  with  her 
handkerchief,  tenderly  brushing  the  velvet.]  Heaven 
grant  that  Cathedral  bazaar  nets  Swift's  poor  not  less 
than  twenty  pounds. 

Dingley. 

The  bazaar,  forsooth — when  the  only  fat  purse  there 
will  be  that  of  Charles  Ford  who'd  gi'  the  moon  did  ye 
ask  for  it — . 


8  DEAN     SWIFT 

Stella. 
[Laughing.]     Nay,  nay — the  moon  indeed! 

Dingley. 
For  'tis  aisily  seen  that  he  adores  ye — . 

Stella. 
Silly  old  Dingley.    Charles  is  merely  my  friend. 

Dingley. 
[Bitterly.]    Let  but  Swift  step  aside  an'  gi'  young  Ford 
his  chance — . 

Stella. 
Be  quiet,  Dingley  dear. 

Dingley. 

[Bitterly.]  Humph — One'd  think  'twas  a  Prince  Royal 
was  to  sit  in  that  chair — . 

Stella. 

So  'tis.  A  Prince  Royal  o'  wit,  wisdom  and  all  that 
goes  to  make  a  kingly  man.  As  for  goodness — 'twas  your- 
self told  me  how  he  took  me  from  my  dead  mother's 
arms.  He  gave  me  the  shelter  of  his  home — the  privilege 
of  his  friendship — .    So — how  can  I  help  but  revere  him? 

Dingley. 

Yet  ye  can't  make  him  out  more'n  a  dean — an  Irish 
parson.     Faugh ! 

Stella. 

Ah — 'tis  a  great  change.  Banished  from  the  English 
court  of  which  he  must  have  been  its  finest  ornament — . 
Exiled  here  to  Dublin — to  the  paltry  duties  of  a 
deanery — . 


DEAN     SWIFT  9 

DlNGLEY. 

Him  as  used  to  rub  elbows  wi'  English  lords — sneer 
at  maids  o'  honor  becase  they  painted  their  faces  a  bit — 
Aye — aha — him  as  used  to  visit  the  Quane's  bed-cham- 
ber— Bah — bed-chamber — . 

Stella. 
Fie,  Dingley !  fie !  fie  !    For  the  Queen's  bed-chamber  is 
a  reception-room — . 

Dingley. 
Bah — .      Isn't    a    bed-chamber    a    bed-chamber    the 
wur-rld  over  ?    I  say  it  is — an'  more  shame  to  Swift  to  be 
in't — aven  wi'  his  Queen — . 

Stella. 
But — if  there  were  forty  others  present,  Dingley  dear? 

Dingley. 
I  telle  a  bed-chamber's  a  bed-chamber  where-e'er  it  is, 
an'  oft  have  I  remembered  it  when  Swift  was  thundering 
forth  his  sermon  from  the  pulpit  o'  his  Cathedral  o'  a 
Sunday — . 

Stella. 
[Going  to  Dingley  and  placing  a  hand  gently  on  her 
shoulder.]     Dingley  dear,  why  so  hard  on  the  poor  Dean? 

Dingley. 

[Pushing  aside  the  hand  roughly.]  Hard  on  him,  am 
I  ?  And  I  mane  to  be  hard  on  him  so  long's  he  so  blind 
to  what's  so  plain  to  me — your  love  for  him. 

Stella. 
[Recoiling.]     My — love — for  Swift?     [Moving  off.] 

Dingley. 
Aye — just  that! 


10  DEAN     SWIFT 

Stella. 
But  — no — no — no. 

DlNGLEY. 

Haven't  I  heard  ye  murmur  his  name  in  dreams  ? 

Stella. 
In — dreams?  [Suddenly  laying  a  hand  on  her  own  lips.] 

DlNGLEY. 

Hah — 'tis  true,  then? 

Stella. 

[Recovering.]  In  dreams,  maybe.  But  in  broad  day- 
light I  well  know  that  a  simple  girl  like  me  can  never  hope 
to  mate  with  a  genius  like  Swift.  Ha  ha — Swift — that 
never  bothers  with  silly  womankind — . 

DlNGLEY. 

Yet  Mistress  White's  letters  tell  o'  Swift's  Lunnun 
charmer — a  Mistress  Esther  Van  Homrigh — . 

Stella. 
[Down  front,  agitatedly,  aside.]    Esther  Van  Homrigh ! 

DlNGLEY. 

Who  rides  in  her  coach — has  flunkies  at  her  mother's 
door — at  whose  house  Swift  kapes  his  best  gown — where 
Swift's  Tory  lords  can  ever  find  him  when  wanted — in 
Mistress  Esther's  coffee-room — . 

Stella. 
Pooh — such  gossip  worries  me  not — for  why  shouldn't 
the  Dean  have  women  friends — . 

DlNGLEY. 

Let  'em  be  ould  an'  ugly,  then — not  beautiful  as  this 
Mistress  Esther's  said  to  be — .  An'  'tis  reported — . 


DEAN     SWIFT  11 

Stella. 
[Passionately.]      Stop — stop — I'll  not  listen  to  aught 
against  the  Dean — . 

Dingley. 
But  if  it  be  the  truth,  child.     Isn't  it  better  to  know 
the  truth  an'  stop  eatin'  your  heart  out  for  one  that  loves 
another — . 

Stella. 
I  tell  you  I'll  not  listen — not  listen — [Almost  in  tears.] 

Patrick 
[Bursting  in  at  door  1.]     A'  say,  Miss — . 

Dingley. 
Say  yer  say,  fool,  an'  be  quick  about  it — . 

Stella. 
Patrick? 

Patrick 
Coompany   comin'    Miss,    coompany — The   ladies    De- 
lany — Walsh  an'  Grannan  wi'  her  two  twins — . 

Stella. 
[Brightly.]      Bid  them  enter,   Patrick — [Patrick  sa- 
lutes, exits  again.]     Promise,  Dingley  dear,  not  to  sneer 
at  these  kindly  Irish. 

Dingley. 
Let  'em  say  naught  'gainst  us  English,  then. 

[Patrick  ushers  in  at  door  1  three  quaintly-dressed, 
middle-aged  women,  in  shawls,  poke  bonnets,  plastered 
locks  and  faces  shining  with  friendliness.  Two  children 
in  pantalettes  and  Leghorn  hats  follow  shyly  in,  carrying, 
between  them  a  white  cotton,  f ringed-out  basket.    Stella 


12  DEAN     SWIFT 

hurries  forward.  There  is  a  babel  of  greetings,  the 
children  adoring  Stella  with  their  eyes.  Stella  instantly 
falls  into  using  the  Dublin  accent.    Exit  Patrick  door  1.] 

Mistresses  Delany,  Walsh  and  Gannan. 
Top  o'  the  mornin' — top  o'  the  mornin' — give  good  day 
to  ye,  Miss — . 

Stella. 
Oh,  Mistress  Walsh — Mistress  Gannan — Mistress  De- 
lany—  [shaking  hands.]     And  the  dear  children — [Who 
drop  basket  and  rush  adoringly  to  her  arms.] 

Mistresses  Delany,  Walsh  and  Gannan. 
[Primly,  to  Dingley,  with  suppressed  smiles  to  each 
other.]     Good  day  to  ye — good  day,  ma'am — . 

Dingley. 
[Primly,  rising.]     Same  to  ye.    An'  if  ye've  time  to  stay 
I'll  sarve  ye  refreshment — . 

Stella. 
[Quickly.]     Yes,  yes,  Dingley.     [Exit  Dingley  stiffly 
door  3.] 

Mistress  Walsh. 
Ach — the  poor  crature — . 

Mistress  Gannan. 
Let  it  not  be  crame  she's  to  sarve  us  lest  it  sour  on  the 
way — . 

Stella. 
Nay,  ladies,  but  her  heart's  all  right.  You're  not  to 
mind  her.  Off  wi'  your  shawls  and  bonnets — .  Hah — 
those  bundles — they're  something  for  the  Dean's  bazaar — 
[Mistress  Delany,  the  primmest  of  the  three  guests, 
places  her  shawl  and  bonnet  on  the  settee  with  the  others, 


DEAN     SWIFT  13 

then  bashfully  retires  to  rear  with  her  bundle.  The  children 
take  off  hats  and  rush  to  door  1  to  bring  down  the  f ringed- 
out  cotton  basket.] 

Mistress  Gannan. 
[Showing    gift,    a    knitted    shawl.]      Faith,    Mistress 
Stella,  'tis  a  wee  small  gift  indade — . 

Stella. 
[With  enthusiasm.]  'Twill  bring  shillings  to  the  ba- 
zaar and  a  bit  o'  comfort  to  some  woman's  shoulders — 
[Snatching  up  the  dainty  muslin  cap  from  Mistress 
Walsh's  bundle  as  Dingley  primly  re-enters  with  a  plate 
of  cake  which  she  silently  passes  round.  The  three 
women  take  pieces  gingerly,  the  children  refuse.  Dingley 
places  plate  on  mantel-shelf  and  sourly  returns  to  her 
square.  Stella  puts  the  cap  on  her  head.]  'Tis  myself 
as  ud  fancy  a  chance  to  win  this  cap — . 

Mistress  Walsh. 
[Slyly.]     Ye  cud  wear  it  as  ye  sit  opposite  the  Dane 
at  his  breakfast  table — . 

Mistress  Gannan. 
An'  may  ye  sit  at  that  same  table  for  the  rest  o'  your 
life—. 

Stella. 
Nay — nay — [Embarrassed,  yet  laughing.]     Will  ye  see 
this  f ringed-out  basket,  now — ?    Ye  made  it  yourselves, 
children — [They  nod.]     And  bought  the  cotton  wi'  your 
own  pennies?    Ye  darlings — [Embracing  both.] 

Mistress  Gannan. 
I  say,  Miss — [Slyly  indicating  Mistress  Delany  at  rear 
eating  her  cake  with  one  hand  and  clutching  her  bundle 
with  the  other.]     'Tis  something  she  refused  to  show  us 
on  the  way,  Miss. 


14  DEAN     SWIFT 

Stella. 
[Bringing  Mistress  Delany  down.]  Mistress  Delany — 
let  us  see  what  ye  have  there  for  the  bazaar — . 

Mistress  Delany 
[Standing  bashfully  at  table.]     Nay,  'tis  naught  at  all, 
at  all. 

Stella. 
Let  us  be  the  judge  o'  that.  [Mistress  Delany  hesi- 
tatingly discards  the  paper  cover  and  displays  a  yard- 
square  silken  quilt  of  many  colors,  green  predominating. 
There  is  a  chorus  from  all  the  others  but  Dingley. 
"Splendid,"  "Grand!"] 

Stella. 
Tis  magnificent — faith — St.  Patrick's  self'd  be  proud 
o'  it—. 

Mistress  Delany 
Then  may  good  luck  go  with  it  for  the  Dane's  bazaar — 
[Giving  it  to  Stella.] 

Stella. 
'Tis  a  beautiful  gift — . 

Dingley. 
Aye — had  it  less  o'  green  in  it. 

Mistress  Delany 

Less — o' — green — [Collapsing  into  Swift's  chair  with 
closed  eyes  and  stiffened  limbs.  Her  tzuo  friends  toss 
cake  onto  table,  rush  to  her,  chafe  her  hands,  fan  her  with 
kerchiefs,  etc.] 

Stella. 

[Hurrying  to  Dingley.]  Dingley,  Dingley — [Pointing 
to  the  others.] 


DEAN     SWIFT  15 

Dingle  y. 
Pooh — all  I  said  was  the  truth,  wasn't  it?     [Mistress 
Delany  revives.] 

Stella. 
[Joining  the  others,  gayly.]     Listen,  ladies.    You're  to 
know  that  Mistress  Dingley  hates  even  grass  'cause  'tis 
green — . 

The  Three  Women. 
[Mollified.  ]     Hates— grass  ?    Oh— Oh— . 

Dingley. 
Chut — pish— bah — . 

Stella. 
Let  a  green  butterfly  or  even  a  green  grasshopper  hover 
near — . 

The  Three  Women. 
[With   pitying   looks   at   Dingley.]      Och — the   poor 
crature — to  hate  a  grane  butterfly. 

DingleY. 
[Explosively.]     Chut — pish — I'd  have  ye  to  know — . 

Stella. 
[To  prevent  an  outbreak.    Drawing  children  to  her  em- 
brace.]    Ah — ye  dear  things — . 

Mistress  Gannan. 
Ye  shud  be  havin'  some  av  yer  own,  Miss — . 

Stella. 
Sure  I'd  love  to — . 

Mistress  Walsh. 
[Slyly.]     An'  the  Dane'd  make  a  splendid  father. 


16  DEAN     SWIFT 

Stella. 
Shame  on  ye,  Mistress  Walsh. 

Mistress  Walsh. 
[Gravely.]     'Tis  what  all  Dublin  expects. 

Dingley. 
Aye — aye — let  Swift  say  to  Stella  "marry  me" — 

Stella. 
[Rushing  to  snatch  the  square  from  Dingley's  hands 
and  holding  it  up.]     See,  ladies,  the  fine  square  that  Mis- 
tress Dingley  has  made  for  the  Dean's  bazaar — . 

Dingley. 
[Snatching  it  back.]     'Tis  not  for  the  bazaar  at  all  at 
all — .     'Tis  a  gift  for  Mistress  White  o'  Lunnun. 

The  Three  Women. 
[With  awe.]    O'  Lunnun? 

Dingley. 
Aye,  Lunnun. 

Mistress  Gannan. 
What  news  from  there,  Miss? 

Stella. 
The  war  still  goes  on.    Though  the  Dean  declares  'tis  a 
useless  waste  o'  blood  an'  treasure.     But — who  cares  for 
Lunnun  news  now  that  the  Dean  is  here  in  Dublin? 

Mistress  Walsh. 
An'  may  he  nivir  return  to  his  Tories — . 

Mistress  Delany 
They  have  nobody  now  to  pull  thim  out  o'  trouble,  and 
Doctor  Delany  says — . 


DEAN     SWIFT  17 

DlNGLEY. 

"Doctor  Delany  SAYS  ! !"  Wouldn't  ye  think  'twas  an 
oracle  spoke — . 

Mistress  Delany 
Ow — w — [signs  of  another  collapse.] 

Stella. 
[To  prevent  same.]     Come,  children,  give  us  a  song. 

Mistress  Gannan. 
Stop,  Johanna,  hangin'  on  Mistress  Stella.    Sure,  she's 
a  grown-up  lady.    Faith,  Miss,  they'll  sing  naught  but  the 
new  song — 'tis  a  game  as  well.  Tis  called  "Lunnun  Bridge 
is  fallin'  down."     Sing,  Johanna — Begin,  Kitty  agra — . 

The  Children 
[Clasping  hands  at  centre  and  singing  the  lines] — 
"London  Bridge  is  fallin'  down — 
Fallin'  down — fallin'  down — 
London  Bridge  is  fallin'  down — 
My — fair — ladye." 

[Standing  with  raised  hands  in  an  arch,  all  but  Dingley 
pass  under.  The  second  time  Stella  is  stopped  in  the 
arch,  gets  a  whispered  word  from  a  child,  on  which  she 
goes  behind  her  and  clasps  her  waist.  Each  of  the  three 
women  cross  under  the  arch,  following  Stella's  action; 
till,  finally  all  stand  swaying  at  center,  singing,  swinging 
and  keeping  time  with  tapping  feet.] 

Patrick. 
[Rushing  in  at  door  1.]     Whist — whist — [They  ignore 
him.      Upon  which   Patrick  forgets  his  manners  and 
rushes  into  the  group.]     WHIST— THE  DANE— THE 
DANE—. 


18  DEAN     SWIFT 

Stella  and  the  Three  Women. 
THE  DEAN — [In  laughing  dismay  as  all  hurry  into 
shawls  and  hats,  Stella  helping  the  twins.  Dingley 
seizes  the  gifts,  thrusts  them  hastily  behind  the  silken  cur- 
tain at  book-shelf,  snatches  up  the  plate  of  cake  and  hurries 
through  door  3  with  it.  Instantly  returns  to  sit  demurely 
on  settee  at  right,  pretending  to  work  on  her  square,  but 
plainly  anticipating  Swift's  "catching"  the  group.] 

Stella. 
But  why  hurry  away?    Sure,  the  Dean'll  not  ate  ye — . 

Mistress  Walsh. 
Ah — but  fancy  him  findin'  us  Lunnun  Bridgin'  in  his 
sitting-room — . 

Mistress  Gannan. 
The  Dane — that  ever  hates  "silly  womankind" — . 

Stella. 
No — 'tis  not  so  at  all — . 

Mistress  Delany 
Aye,  Miss,  but  he  does.     For  'twas  only  this  mornin' 
that  the  Doctor  said — . 

Dingley. 
The  Doctor  SAID!     Chut— pish— bah-h-h— . 

Mistress  Gannan. 
[Mistress  Delany  collapses  again.     Mistress  Gan- 
nan catches  her  in  time.     Mistress  Walsh  helps.    Ap- 
pealingly.]     Ah,  Miss — for  a  short  cut  to  gate — . 

Stella. 
Patrick  shall  show  ye  past  the  sacristy — beyond  the 
Dean's  tulip-bed — [Patrick  leads  to  door  1.     The  hvo 


DEAN     SWIFT  19 

women  slowly  follow,  still  supporting  Mistress  Delany. 
The  twins  follow.  Door  closed.]  Dingley  dear — when 
you  promised  me  to  be  nice  to  them — . 

Dingley. 

But  wasn't  I  "nice?"  Did  I  speak  aught  but  the 
blessed  truth?  Besides,  I  have  it  in  for  her  wonderful 
"doctor."  Sure,  I  hate  every  bone  in  his  body.  [Door  1 
opens.  The  tzvins  again  rush  in.  Stella  meets  them 
at  centre,  takes  a  gay  whirl  with  them,  then  kneels  at  cen- 
tre, embracing  them.] 

[Swift  enters,  unnoticed  but  by  Dingley.  Swift,  in 
the  forty- fifth  year  of  his  age.  Tall,  commanding,  even 
kingly  presence.  In  black  wig,  black  cloth  knee-breeches 
and  jacket,  low-cut  shoes,  silver  buckles,  black  cloak, 
"shovel"  hat  and  white  linen  "bands."  His  look  is  moody. 
But,  as  he  hangs  cloak  and  hat  on  pegs  under  mantel-shelf 
and  views  the  scene  at  centre,  his  face  brightens  as  he 
comes  down.  The  children  discover  him,  point  at  him 
with  affrighted  looks,  rush  past  him  and  out  at  door  1. 
Swift  takes  no  notice,  but  comes  down  to  Stella,  who, 
caught  in  "silliness,"  droops  her  head.  Swift  lifts  her 
face  with  half -sad,  half -bantering  smile,  lifting  her  and 
bringing  her  down  front,  his  arm  about  her.  Stella, 
with  a  little  cry  as  of  embarrassment,  drops  her  head  on 
his  breast.] 

Swift. 

[After  a  moment,  his  arm  still  about  her,  staring 
moodily  ahead.]     You — love — those — children,  Stella? 

Stella. 
[With  eager  look.]     Yes — as  I  love  ALL  children — . 


20  DEAN     SWIFT 

Swift. 
[After  a  pause.]      Ah — would   that    Swift  would   be 
wise — be  wise — and   so — be   happy — [Releasing    Stella 
and  sinking  moodily  into  his  chair.] 

Stella. 
[Behind  him,  touching  his  shoulder  with  sympathy.] 
Swift—. 

Swift. 
[Patting  the  hand.]     My  one — true — friend — . 

Stella. 
Always!     [Turning  ledger  to  him  and  pointing  to  it.] 
See — all's  ready — the  shillings  for  your  poor,  waiting  be- 
yond the  door. 

Swift. 
[With  strong  distaste,  drawing  ledger  forward.]     Ah — 
ye  think  to  hide  from  me  the  bitterness  o'  my  lot? 

Stella. 
Nay — but  to  show  you  the  brightness  of  it. 

Swift. 
And  Dingley  there — .    She's  in  the  kindly  plot  too  ? 

Dingley. 
Nay — .     If  so  keen  an  eye  as  the  Dean's  sees  not  the 
benefit  o'  his  deanery,  may  it  remain  blind  till  the  end. 

Swift. 

[Without  bitterness.]     Aye,  Dingley.     Caustic's  good 

for  a  wound.    Do  not  hesitate  to  lay  it  on.     [Mutteringly, 

as  he  scans  page.]     Ah — .    This  dispensing  of  "charity." 

"Whom  the  Lord  loveth,  he  chastiseth,"  eh?     And  'tis 


DEANSWIFT  21 

left  to  "charity"  to  heal  the  sore — .  God's  poor !  Aye — 
and  at  the  devil's  mercy,  too,  for  who  DARE  deny  that 
poverty  leads  to  crime — and  crime  to  perdition?  [Silent, 
staring.  Patrick  enters  door  1,  two  featherless  chickens 
in  hand.] 

Patrick. 
Ahem — yer  rivirince — . 

Swift. 
What  now,  sirrah? 

Patrick. 

[Holding  up  chickens.]  From  Archbishop,  sor.  His 
futman  waits  beyant — . 

Swift. 

For  my  thanks,  eh  ?  Throw  them  over  the  deanery  wall 
and  begone — [Returning  to  page.  Stella  dismisses  Pat- 
rick to  door  1  and  places  chickens  on  chair  at  left.  Mut- 
teringly  with  rising  fury.]  "Catty,  the  widow"  aged 
eighty,  "one  shilling."  "Mary  Meggs"  chasted  wi'  ears 
that  hear  not,  "one  shilling."  "Larry  Fergus"  paralyzed 
and  ever  hungry  "one  shilling."  "Peggy  Malone"  the 
widowed  mother  of  six,  wi'  another  under  her  heart — 
"one  shilling."  One  shilling — [striking  the  table.]  ONE 
SHILLING — yet  I've  naught  to  give  her  but  one  shil- 
ling—  [Rising  and  walking  about  with  fierce  gestures  and 
mutterings.]  God — oh  God — !  [With  deep  sympa- 
thetic look  at  Swift,  Stella  gathers  up  the  coins,  goes  to 
door  1  and  out,  the  distant  voices  of  beggars  again  heard.] 

DlNGLEY. 

Humph — she's  off  now — to  gie  away  the  Dean's  "pen- 
nies." Ah-h — 'tis  a  g-r-e-a-t  change  fro'  dispensin' 
"favors"  to  the  English  nobility — . 


22  DEAN     SWIFT 

Swift. 
[Hearing  only  her  voice.]     Be  quiet,  woman. 

Dingley. 
What'll   ye   say   when   she  gie's   hersel'   to   Ford — as 
loves  her — .    Ford — who's  young  an'  rich — . 

Swift. 
[As  before.]     Silent,  can't  ye — . 

Dingley. 
[Hanging  her  square  on  chair  at  left,  looks  back  at 
Swift  with  sneering  look.]     Humph — [Exits  door  3.] 

Stella. 
[Re-enters,  followed  by  a  red-cheeked,  husky,  ragged 
beggar  who,  on  seeing  Swift,  mutely  refuses  to  advance, 
remaining    at    door   1.      Stella    comes    down,    touches 
Swift's  arm  gently.]     Dear,  another  applicant. 

Swift. 
[Not  turning,  gruffly.]     Not  see  him. 

Stella. 
But  poor  and  hungry — . 

Swift. 
Have  naught  for  him. 

Stella. 
But  the  father  of  six  children. 

Swift. 
[Wheeling  toward  beggar.]     Six  children!  SIX  CHIL- 
DREN ! !     [  Crossing  to  beggar,  seizing  his  arm  and  fling- 
ing him  down  front,  to  before  him.]     So,  sirrah!     Wi' 
not   a   ha'pence   in   your   pocket — yet   the   father   o'   six 


DE  AN     SWIFT  23 

children!  Girls  who'd  be  fair  an'  rosey — boys  who'd  be 
strong  an'  straight  but  for  want  o'  bread !  And  how  DARE 
ye  look  me  in  the  face  and  ask  for  charity?  [Discarding 
beggar  to  rush  down  front  with  up  flung  arms,  mutter- 
ingly.]  Heaven  witness  for  me  if  assistance  should  be 
given  this  unconscious  criminal ! ! !  Six  children  and  not 
another  shilling  in  my  treasury  till  next  Monday.  [Star- 
ing about  for  something  to  give  away.  Hurrying  to  chick- 
ens, catching  them  up,  also  the  cotton  square  to  wrap  them 
in,  thrusting  both  into  the  beggar's  hands  and  roughly 
pushing  him  to  door  1.]  There  now — be  off — be  off — and 
don't  come  back  here  till  next  Monday — [Beggar,  terri- 
fied, rushes  through  door  1.  Swift,  with  a  look  of  relief, 
returns  to  his  chair.  To  Stella,  who  has  moved  to  save 
the  square,  then  refrained.]  Can  thank  Archbishop — now 
— wi'  a  clear  conscience.  [Dingley  re-enters  door  3  as 
Patrick  enters  door  1  with  letterbag.] 

Patrick. 
[Saluting.]     Yer  rivirince — [Holding  up  bag.] 

Swift. 

[Eagerly.]  Come  hither,  man — [Patrick  obeys. 
Swift  eagerly  seises  the  bag,  empties  contents  out,  dis- 
cards the  bag,  which  Patrick  carries  out  door  2.  Hold- 
iing  up  a  letter] — For  Mistress  Rebecca  Dingley.  [Ding- 
ley  hurries  forward  and  takes  it  quickly.  To  Stella]  — 
A  newspaper,  two  useless  pamphlets — and  no  letter  for  the 
Dean — .     Forgotten — in  three  short  months,  fogotton — / 

Dingley. 

[Having  opened  letter.  In  triumph.]  'Tis  myself  as  is 
not  forgotten — 'Tis  a  letter  from  London — [Swift  takes 
no  notice,  sinking  into  moodiness  again.  Dingley  crosses 
to  settee  and  reads  her  letter.] 


24  DEAN     SWIFT 

Stella 
Forgotten  by  your  London  friends,  but  see  the  newer 
friends  you  have — .     Archbishop — Dr.  Delany — Charles 
Ford     . 

Swift. 

[Dismissing  all  as  dust.]     Pah-pah — . 

Stella 
And  see  the  fine  deanery  they've  given  you — . 

Swift. 
Four  wretched  walls — . 

Stella. 
Wi'  Cathedral  at  its  very  doors — . 

Swift. 
Aye — filled  with  slaves  that  rise  not  'gainst  the  whip 
that  flays — the  taxes  that  rob  them — the  rents  that  rack 
them  to  the  dust — ! 

Stella. 
Ah — but  now  that  the  great  Dean  is  here  to  fight — to 
defend  them — . 

Swift. 
Bah,  child — .    Swift  is  but  a  memory  now — .  A  maggot 
on  a  dunghill — .    Go — leave  me  to  my  misery — [Beginning 
to  read  newspaper  with  little  interest.] 

Stella. 
[Crossing  to  Dingley,  zuho  is  now  reading  her  letter 
and  shaking  her  head  over  it.    In  lower  tone] — Bad  news, 
Dingley  dear? 

Dingley. 
[Suddenly  pressing  the  letter  to  her  breast.]     Yes  an* 
no. 


DEAN     SWIFT  25 

Stella. 
[Recoiling.]     Dingley — ! 

Dingley. 
Forgive  me,  child.     Tis  a  letter  from  Mistress  White 
o'  Lunnun.     As  for  news   [with  a  sniff — replacing  it  %n 
bosom.    Missing  the  square.]     The  square — the  square — 
what's  become  o'  the  square  for  Mistress  White — ? 

Stella. 
[Soothingly,  indicating  Swift  as  reading.]     S-h-h — . 

Dingley. 
Cud   that   thavin'    beggar — Hah — the   chickens — Swift 
gave  him  the  chickens — [Fiercely,  seizing  Stella's  arm.] 
Could  the  Dean — . 

Stella. 
But  the  Dean  had  naught  to  wrap  them  in — . 

Dingley. 
[Beginning  to  rock  back  and  forth.]     Oh,  oh — a  long 
month's  work — a  gift  for  Mistress  White — . 

Stella. 
There — there.     Swift  shall  pay  you  for't — . 

Dingley. 

[Shaking  her  fist  at  Swift.]     Aye — that  he  shall!    Pay 
dearly  for't — . 

Swift. 
[Explosively,  to  himself.]  Hah — what's  this — what's 
this?  Ah — the  madmen — the  fools — .  What —  do  the 
Whigs  DARE ! !  Oh — my  poor  England  at  the  mercy 
o'  her  foes  at  last !  [Sinking  back  into  chair  again  read- 
ing.] 


26  DEAN     SWIFT 

[A  knock  at  door  1.  Dingley  opens  it.  Enter  Charles 
Ford,  aged  28.  Scholarly-looking,  richly  but  simply 
dressed,  brown  wig,  brown  knee-breeches  and  coat, 
brown  silken  stockings,  silver  buckled  shoes.  Doctor 
Delany  follows.  Aged  forty,  the  chubby  type,  seeing  the 
bright  side  of  things  always.  Bubbling  over  with  patriot- 
ism and  bulls.  With  rolling  r's  and  broad  as.  In  the  simple 
black  of  the  Dublin  professional  man.  The  reverse  in 
every  way  of  his  prim,  angular  wife.  Both  men  glance  at 
Swift,  decide  not  to  disturb  him  yet,  salute  Stella,  Ford 
with  devotion.  Dingley  closes  door  and  primly  waits  to 
be  "spoken  to." 

Ford. 

Mistress  Stella — [Nodding  to  Dingley,  who  smiles 
slightly.] 

Stella. 

[Giving  her  hand  to  each,  radiantly.]  Charles — Dr.  De- 
lany—  ? 

Delany. 

Fairest  flower  o'  the  morning — [Nodding  toward  Ding- 
ley with  the  corners  of  his  mouth  drawn  down.]  Wi'  the 
gentlest  o'  guardians — . 

Dingley. 

[Coming  forward.]  Chut — pish — bah — [Delany  and 
Dingley  cross  at  the  same  time  thus  necessitating  a  sort 
of  war-dance.  Delany  with  deprecating  smile,  Dingley 
with  a  snort  of  disdain.    Exit  Dingley  door  3.] 

Ford. 

[Joining  Swift,  familiar,  yet  reverential.]  Morning, 
Mister  Dean — . 


DEAN     SWIFT  27 

Swift. 
[Rising  and  thrusting  newspaper  into  his  hand,  ignor- 
ing   Delany's    humble    salute.      Delany    smiles,    joins 
Stella  at  right.]     Read  that  bit  o'  news. 

Ford. 

[Reading  without  enthusiasm.]  Yes — for  the  Tories 
it's  bad  news  indeed — . 

Swift. 

The  worst — the  very  worst.  This  useless  war  continues 
year  after  year — Marlbro  is  still  the  "worshipped  Gen- 
eral" —  winning  useless  victories  —  recklessly  spilling 
precious  blood — piling  expenses  on  wretched  England  that 
mean  enormous  profits  for  his  friends — expenses  that 
come  back  to  his  own  greedy  pocket  in  streams  of  gold — . 

Ford. 
Can  it  be  possible  that  General  Marlbro — . 

Swift. 
Knows  as  well  as  I  do  that  this  war  is  useless — that 
all  his  victories  are  barren  ones,  netting  his  country  noth- 
ing, except  that  it  adds  to  his  own  glory — .  God  of 
heaven — where  will  this  useless  waste  of  blood  and  money 
lead? 

Ford. 

But  why  doesn't  the  Tory  ministry — . 

Swift. 
Because  the  Tories  are  at  each  other's  throats — .  Boling- 
broke  quarrelling  with  Lord  Treasurer — .    Oh — my  coun- 
try— my  distracted  country — . 

Delany. 
Tut-tut,  Mister  Dean.    So  long's  'tis  not  Erin  that  suf- 
fers, since  she's  never  a  farthing  with  which  to  bless  her- 


28  DEAN     SWIFT 

self — [Pose  of  orator.]     Erin — wi'  its  green  fields — its 
flowery  dales — its  lovely  lakes — . 

Swift. 
Bah !    Erin !    A  God- forsaken  land — a  bog-hole — a  sink 
o'  despair — its  hills  and  dales  dotted  with  the  sod  huts  of 
its  wretched  peasantry — . 

Delany. 
Aye-aye,    Mister    Dean — But — your   country   just   the 
same — . 

Swift. 
True — true — Delany.       Worse     luck     for     Jonothan 
Swift—. 

Ford. 

[Putting  newspaper  on  table.]     They  miss  your  hand 
at  the  helm,  sir. 

Swift. 
Pah-pah — . 

Delany. 
And  they'll  be  wantin'  our  great  Dean  back  again — 
Ha  ha—. 

Stella. 
Then  they'll  wish  in  vain,  for  the  Dean  has  had  enough 
of  their  "promises." 

Swift. 
Nay — Stella,  the  breaking  o'  those  promises  was  not 
Lord  Treasurer's  fault — . 

Delany. 
What,  sir — ye  can  forgive  them,  though  they  cheated  ye 
out  of  a  Bishop's  gown! ! ! 

Ford. 
[Warningly.]      Delany — [Indicating    Swift's    moody 
look.] 


DEAN     SWIFT  29 

Swift. 
[To  himself.]    A  bishop's  gown — a  bishop's  gown — . 

Delany. 
[To  cheer  Swift.]      But  away  wi'  politics  this  fine 
morning.     So  long's  there's  a  bottle  in  the  Deanery  cel- 
lars— eh,  Mister  Dean? 

Swift. 
[Dismissing    moodiness   and    rising.]      Ah,    Delany — 
would  that  I  were  as  light  of  heart  as  thou — . 

Delany. 
Faith,  sir,  'tis  easy.     Ye've  only  to  be  half  English — 
and  wholely  Irish — [Leading  the  way  to  door  2  which  he 
opens  for  Swift  as  for  a  king.] 

Swift. 
Ford — ?  [Exits  door  2  followed  by  Delany.] 

Ford. 
[Saluting  Stella.]     Mistress  Stella — . 

Stella. 
[Smiling.]       Charles — [Ford    salutes,    backs    through 
door  2.     The  voices  of  the  men  begin  to  be  heard  in  ar- 
gument.] 

DlNGLEY. 

[Enters  door  3.  Looks  round,  listens  at  door  2  a 
moment,  then  comes  down.]  Listen  to  'em — 'tis  as  usual 
about  politics — .  Hah — Swift's  body  may  be  here  in 
Dublin — but  his  soul's  in  England — wi'  his  Bolingbrokes 
an'  Oxfords — and  did  his  Tory  friends  send  for  him — 
Swift'd  cross  the  channel  again — . 

Stella. 
Nay,  Dingley — you  are  wrong — . 


30  DE  AN     SWIFT 

DlNGLEY. 

Ye  are  sure  o'  that,  child? 

Stella. 
Yes — sure — sure !    For  why  should  the  Dean  return — . 

Dingley. 
Why  shud  he — WHY?  [Taking  letter  from  pocket 
and  holding  it  up.]  For  the  best  o'  reasons — Mistress 
White  tells  me  that  Swift's  Lunnun  charmer  is  pinin'  for 
him — [Reading  from  letter.]  "  Tis  reported  that  Mis- 
tress Esther  Van  Homrigh  is  no  longer  present  when  her 
mamma  dispenses  coffee  to  her  Tory  guests — "  And  here 
again,  "  'Tis  well-known  that  a  certain  lovely  young  Miss 
is  pinin'  for  a  sight  o'  the  great — the  world-famous 
Dean—." 

Stella. 

[Who  listens  with  repressed  agitation.]     Stop — Ding- 
ley — stop — . 

Dingley. 
[Reading.]     "And  'tis  reported  that  the  young  lady  may 
yet   cross   the   channel   to   visit   the   Dean   at   the   Irish 
capitol — " 

Stella. 
[Tearfully.]    I  tell  you  I'll  not  listen — . 

Dingley. 
[Placing  letter  on  table  with  look  of  pity.]    Then,  child, 
read  for  yourself — [Backing  to  door  3.    Exits.] 

Stella. 
No — no — I'll  not  read  it — I — I  dare  not — [Taking  up 
letter.]    Yet — if  it  be  the  truth — [Reads  letter.    Dingley 
softly  enters,  waiting  at  door  3.     With  a  cry  of  grief, 
covering  her  eyes.] 


DEAN     SWIFT  31 

DlNGLEY. 

[Running  to  her,  zvith  deep  pity.]  My  poor  Stella — my 
darling  Stella — [Opening  her  arms.] 

Stella 
Go  away,  Dingley — go — leave  me — . 

DlNGLEY. 

But — if  I  want  to  help  you  bear  your  sorrow — [Ford 
enters  from  door  2.  Dingley  snatches  letter,  quickly 
exits  door  3.    Stella  mops  her  eyes  hastily.] 

Ford. 

[Coming  down  quickly.]  Mistress  Stella — this  London 
news — it  may  enkindle  Swift's  desire  to  help  his  Tory 
friends — to  rush  to  their  aid — to  cross  the  channel  again — 
We — his  friends  must  prevent — Ah — you  also  fear  that — . 

Stella. 

Nay — Swift  will  not  return — 'Tis  something  else  that 
grieves  me — . 

Ford. 

But — good  God — there  are  tears  in  your  eyes — [Taking 
her  hand.]  Tell  me — I  implore  you — .  Mistress  Stella — 
I  live  only  to  serve  you — . 

Stella. 
'Tis  that  a  woman  awaits  Swift's  return  to  London — . 

Ford. 

A  woman?  Hah,  if  that  be  all — .  Ah — there's  but  one 
woman  on  earth  for  Jonothan  Swift  and — [kissing  her 
hand]  that  woman  is  yourself ! 


32  DEAN     SWIFT 

Swift. 
[Hurrying  through  door  2  followed  by  Delany.]  I 
tell  you,  Delany,  'twould  be  a  coward's  part  to  desert  his 
friends  in  time  of  need — and  if  ever  England  needed  a 
word  of  advice — 'tis  now!  [Throwing  himself  into  his 
chair,  drawing  forward  pen  and  paper  and  beginning  to 
write  rapidly.] 

Delany. 
Aye — Mister  Dane — a  word  of  advice  only.     Provided 
ye  won't  think  o'  crossing  the  channel  to  aid  'em — . 

Swift. 

Never — Delany — never — I  shall  never  return.  But  my 
pen  is  at  their  service  always — [Delany,  Ford  and 
Stella  group  off  to  right,  talking  softly  and  watching 
Swift.  Finally  sanding  the  sheet.]  There —  a  word 
to  those  quarrelling  Tories — a  word  that,  if  taken,  will 
surely  outwit  Marlbro  and  his  profiteering  friends  and 
hasten  the  end  of  this  iniquitous  war — .  Come  hither, 
Delany — there's  no  time  to  waste — . 

Delany. 

[Joining  him,  unwillingly,  his  hands  behind  him.]  But, 
Mister  Dean — . 

Swift. 

[Impatiently,  flicking  the  page  across  the  table.]  To  the 
printers — to  the  printers — have  'em  strike  off  a  thousand 
sheets — say  that  the  Dean  demands  instant  service — . 

Delany. 
But — sir — . 

Swift. 
Say  that  all's  to  cross  the  channel  at  the  next  sailing — . 
Hurry — man — hurry — a  thousand  lives  may  depend  on 


DEAN     SWIFT  33 

this  page's  printing.  Even  the  Queen — those  cursed  Whigs 
— those  fools  of  Tories — all  will  read  it. 

Delany. 
But — if  it  benefit  not  poor  Erin — . 

Swift. 
[Impatiently.]      Erin — and  ever  Erin!     Man — man — 
get  thyself  a  wider  charity — . 

[Door  1  opens.  Erasmus  Lewis,  dapper,  keen-eyed, 
suave  court  politician,  in  red  wig,  travelling  dress,  depre- 
cating smile,  enters  after  a  loud  knock.  Swift,  frown- 
ing at  interruption,  turns.  His  face  beams,  he  hurries  to 
Lewis,  seizes  his  hands  and  draws  him  down.]  Lewis 
— LEWIS — ah — 'tis  good  to  see  an  English  face  again — 
by  what  good  fortune — . 

Lewis. 
Ah — Swift — King  of  Tories — . 

Swift. 
[With  repressed  emotion.]     When  did  you  arrive? 

Lewis. 
But  an  hour  since — .    My  ship's  at  anchor  in  the  bay — . 

Swift. 
Where  it  shall  remain  for  yet  awhile,  eh? 

Lewis. 
Ha  ha — well,  Swift,  that  depends  on  yourself — . 

Swift. 
On  me?     Then  'tis  settled.     [Bringing  Lewis  down.] 
Lewis,  this  is  my  ward — Mistress  Stella  Johnson — [Lewis 
bows.]     Stella,  you  see  before  you  Erasmus  Lewis,  the 
wiliest  of  politicians — . 


34  DE  AN     8WIF  T 

Lewis. 
Ha  ha,  Swift — . 

Swift. 
And  the  faithfulest  of  friend: 


Stella. 
Any  friend  of  the  Dean's  is  welcome  to  his  deanery — . 

Lewis. 
[Kissing  her  hand,  with  a  sly  look  at  Ford.]     Thanks. 
Mistress  Johnson's  charms  hath  oft  been  told  me  by — 
Ah,  Ford—. 

Ford. 
[Smiling  and  giving  his  hand.]     Ah,   Lewis — so   far 
from  home  and  from  those  wires  you  so  love  to  pull — . 

Lewis. 
Ah — but  in  the  service  of  my  friends  only.    Eh,  Swift? 

Swift. 
Always.      Lewis,    this    is    Doctor    Delany — Patriot — 
philosopher — yes — and  orator — . 

Delany. 
[Abashed.]     Aha — forbear,  sir  Dean — forebear — . 

Swift. 
Doctor,   this   is   Erasmus   Lewis,    Under-Secretary  of 
State  in  the  Tory  Ministry — . 

Delany. 
Of  the   Tory  ministry?      [Withdrawing  his  extended 
hand.] 

Lewis. 
Doctor,  the  pleasure's  mine — Patriot — philosopher  and 
orator — . 


DEAN     SWIFT  35 

Delany. 

[Meaningly.]      Faith,  Mister  Secretary  for  the  Tory 
ministry — 'tis  a  f-a-r  cry  from  London  to  little  Dublin — . 

Lewis. 
Pooh,  Doctor — what's  a  long  journey — in  a  good  cause? 

Delany. 
[His   fears    confirmed.]      Good    God — [Swift    takes 
Lewis'  cloak  and  hat  to  mantel-shelf.    Stella  and  Ford 
join  Dela,ny  off  to  right,  watching  Swift  and  Lewis 
with  worried  looks.] 

Swift. 
Lewis,  I'd  begun  to  think  that  my  London  friends  had 
all  deserted  me — Not  a  letter — not  a  single  line — In  three 
short  months  I've  been  forgotten — . 

Lewis. 
Forgotten?    Why,  Swift,  there  are  those  that  think  of 
you  daily — hourly — Bolingbroke — Oxford — . 

Swift. 
Aye — 'tis  reported  they're  at  each  other's  throats — . 

Lewis. 
God's  pity,  too — .    When  so  much  hangs  on  a  pull  al- 
together— .     Forgotten  you?     When  a  thousand  Tories 
mourn    your    absence — when    even    Her    Majesty,    the 
Queen — . 

Swift. 
Pooh,  the  Queen — ! 

Lewis. 
Also  her  Grace  of  Marlbro — who's  made  up  her  quarrel 
with  the  Court — . 


36  DEAN     SWIFT 

Swift. 
Aye — to  strengthen  her  "General's"  hands  in  the  con- 
tinuing of  this  useless  war — . 

Lewis. 
Exactly.    And  unless  all  signs  fail — . 

Delany. 
Looke,  Lewis,  can  a  Queen  be  dominated  by  a  mere 
Duchess  ? 

Lewis. 
Ah,  Doctor — you  don't  know  her  Grace — .     She's  the 
rock  in  the  Tory  road  to  success — the  nightmare  that  rides 
each  Tory's  dreams — .     Eh,  Swift? 

Swift. 
[Dismissing  signs  of  interest.]     Bah,  Lewis — what  care 
I  for  such  news?    Since  I'm  forever  out  o'  politics — ? 

Lewis. 
Out  of  politics?     Heavens — Swift — I'll  not  believe — . 
No — that  cannot  be — [With  dismay.] 

Swift. 
Ha  ha — you'll  soon  get  used  to  the  thought — [Abruptly 
turning  away  and  joining  those  at  right.] 

Lewis. 
[Biting  his  nails  and  sinking  into  Swift's  chair.    After 
a  moment.]     One  moment,  Swift — . 

Swift. 
[Over  his  shoulder.]     Well,  Lewis? 

Lewis. 
You've  surely  guessed  why  I've  crossed  the  channel — 
why  I  am  here  in  Dublin? 

Swift. 
Guessed?    Pooh — why  should  I? 


DE  AN     SWIFT  37 

Lewis. 
Er — .    I  had  hoped — I  had  hoped — to  have  laid  a  cer- 
tain matter  of  business  before  you — er — in  private. 

Swift. 
But — ha   ha — since   I've   no   secrets    from   these — my 
friends — . 

Lewis. 
I  accept  the  challenge.     Well  then,  my  business  is — 
England's  ministry  has  sent  me  hither  to  demand — to  im- 
plore that  Jonothan  Swift  return  to  his  place  at  the  helm 
of  state — . 

Swift. 
[  With  savage  joy.  ]  So  !  The  storm's  overtaken  them 
and  they  want  "the  Irish  parson"  to  pull  them  out  again? 
Nay,  Lewis,  nay.  Here  I  remain  wi'  those  that  love  me! 
[His  arm  about  Stella's  shoulder.  Ford  takes  Delany 
to  left.] 

Delany. 
[Pose  of  orator.]  Ah,  Mister  Secretary — I'd  have  ye 
know  that  the  Dean  hath  a  nobler  work  at  home — .  His 
wretched  country — groanin'  under  laws  that  have  made 
slaves  o'  half  of  us — exiled  the  other  half  and  ruined  those 
that's  left — [Applause  from  all.  He  would  resume 
but—.] 

Lewis. 
[Rising,  animated.]  Bravo — doctor — encora — encora — . 
Sentiments  sublime — but — they  don't  affect  the  tide — it 
turns  in  an  hour  and  my  ship  must  be  away — [Getting  hat 
and  cloak,  then  offering  his  hand  to  Swift.]  So  it  must 
be  goodbye. 

Swift. 
Goodbye?    Nay,  Lewis.    So  long  a  voyage — so  brief  a 
visit — . 

Lewis. 
[Meaningly,  yet  gayly.]     The  fault's  not  mine,  sir. 


38  DEAN     SWIFT 

Swift. 
You  can  at  least  break  bread  with  us — [Taking  away 
hat  and  cloak  and  giving  them  to  Ford  who  again  hangs 
them  on  pegs  under  shelf.] 

Lewis. 
[Pretending  reluctance.]     But — affairs  of  state — . 

Swift. 
Pooh — Let  'em  wait.     The  deanery  cellars  be  not  all 
empty — . 

Lewis. 
Well — what's  an  hour  more  or  less?     I  agree. 

Swift. 
Ah!    Then  Mistress  Stella — [Joining  Stella  and  tak- 
ing her  to  right,  where,  near  the  flower-stand  he  whispers, 
at  the  same  time  plucking  a  blossom  and  giving  it  to  her.] 

Lewis. 
[To  Delany  and  Ford.    Bitterly.]     And  to  think  that 
a  mere  petticoat  stands  between  England  and  salvation ! 

Ford. 
But — since  "the  petticoat"  and  Swift's  happiness — . 

Lewis. 
Pshaw !    Swift's  earthly  flight — like  the  eagle's — should 
be  to   soar  alone.     His  destiny   should  be   the   world's 
arena — where  his  genius  belongs! 

Delany. 
But,  Mister  Secretary — what  about  Swift's  genius  to 
help  poor  Erin? 

Lewis. 
What!    You'd  smother  him  in  an  Irish  bog  when  Eng- 
land's  salvation  hangs  upon  him!      [His   eye  suddenly 
falling  on  the  written  page  before  him.] 


DEAN     SWIFT  39 

Delany. 

Hah — the  bishop's  gown  ye  cheated  him  out  of  ?  Nay — 
nay — the  Dean's  not  to  be  cheated  twice — [Exit  Stella 
door  3.    Swift  comes  to  centre.] 

Lewis. 
[Staring  at  page.]     Hah — what's  this — what's  this? 

Swift. 
Written  by  me  an  hour  since — ? 

Lewis. 
But — it's  addressed  to  all  England — . 

Swift. 
[Grimly.]     Including  my  foolish  friends,  the  Tories — . 

Ford. 
[Saluting.]     Swift — [who  returns  it.]     Lewis — [who 
returns  it,  still  intently  reading  page.    Ford  moves  to  door 

Delany. 

[Saluting.]  Swift — [who  now  intently  watches  Lewis 
and  ignores  Delany,  who  smiles,  shrugs.]  Mister  Sec- 
retary— better  luck  next  time — . 

Lewis. 
Doctor — [Exit  Ford  and  Delany.     Throwing  down 
the  page  with  a  shrug.]     Good  enough  argument,  Swift, 
but — humph — . 

Swift. 
[Seizing  the  page  and  reading  it.]     What's  wrong  here, 
Lewis?     I've  covered  the  ground — pointed  out  the  best 
means  of — . 

Lewis. 
Yes — yes — But — . 


40  DEAN     SWIFT 

Swift. 
Then  where's  the  weak  point? 

Lewis. 
Where?    WHERE?    'Tis  because  'tis  written  on  Irish 
soil — .     But  let  Swift  thunder  it  from  the  floor  of  the 
English  Parliament — . 

Swift. 
[After  a  moment,  discarding  the  page.     With  finality.] 
No,  Lewis — no.    Eternally  no! 

Lewis. 
Swift — a  last  appeal — .     With  the  ministry  at  each 
other's  throats — with  our  treasury  empty — . 

Swift. 
[With  fierce  joy.]     Aha — I  foresaw  it — ! 

Lewis. 
With  the  Queen  distracted — . 

Swift. 
Bah — .     She's  always  hated  me — ! 
Lewis. 

Swift — for  England's  sake — for  God's  sake  return  with 
me — . 

Swift. 

Return  with  you?    For  what  reward?    An  Irish  dean- 
ery? 

Lewis. 

Ah — but  then  'twas  the  best  in  the  Tory  gift — . 


DEAN     SWIFT  41 

Swift. 

[With  rising  fury.]  A  deanery  in  wretched  Dublin — 
where  the  very  air  reeks  of  misery — where  man  is  a  chat- 
tel— ruled  wi'  a  whip — refused  the  right  to  happiness — 
aye — even  to  choose  his  own  way  to  salvation — .  No — 
no — I'll  not  return. 

Lewis. 

So — .  This  is  the  message  that  I'm  to  carry  back  to 
your  friends? 

Swift. 

Friends,  eh?  Men  who'll  use  you — .  Then — when 
they've  no  further  use  for  you — fling  you  out  an  Irish 
deanery  as  they'd  toss  a  stick  into  the  sea  for  a  dog — 
"Hi — swim  for  it  and  be  damned  to  ye" — [Falling  ex- 
hausted into  chair.] 

Lewis. 

But,  sir,  'tis  the  privilege  of  the  great  to  forget — to 
forgive — . 

Swift. 
No — no — .     I   can't   forget — I   can't   forgive — [Single 
boom  of  cannon.]     Hah — what's  that? 

Lewis. 

The  signal  from  my  ship — [Getting  cloak  and  hat  from 
pegs.]  The  tide  has  turned — .  I  must  begone — [Offer- 
ing hand  to  Swift.] 

Swift. 
[Rising,  agitatedly,  taking  the  hand.]     So  soon,  Lewis? 
Without  breaking  bread  wi'  me? 

Lewis. 
[Brokenly.]     Bread  that  would  choke  me — since  my 
mission's  failed — Ah,  sir — to  leave  you  here — exiled — in 


42  DEAN     SWIFT 

what  you  believe  is  a  land  of  slaves — your  genius 
blighted — .  Ah,  sir — [Rushing  to  door  1  and  out.  Door 
closed.] 

Swift. 

[Staring  after  him,  falling  into  chair.]  "Exiled  in  a 
land  of  slaves."  God — oh  God — [Covering  his  face. 
Lewis  softly  opens  door,  peers  in  with  satisfied  look,  as 
softly  closes  door.  After  a  moment  a  loud  knock.  Swift 
instantly  recovers.] 

Lewis. 
[Enters  with  smile  and  letter  in  hand.]  Gad,  sir,  had 
near  forgotten  Lord  Treasurer's  letter — [Swift  snatches 
it  imperiously,  tears  it  open  and  reads  eagerly.  Lewis 
watches  with  hope.  Swift  breathes  deeply,  the  letter  fin- 
ished, ponders.]  May  I  be  permitted?  [Swift  gives  letter 
to  Lewis  who  reads  with  pretended  amaze.]  Why,  sir,  'tis 
the  promise  of  Canterbury — A  promise  over  Lord  Treas- 
urer's own  signature.  Canterbury!!  Heavens,  Swift,  you 
can't  refuse  NOW!  What!  Bury  yourself  in  Dublin 
when — for  the  reaching  for  it  you  can  become  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury — . 

Swift. 
Bah — .    Why  waste  time  and  words?    I'll  none  of  it — 
None  of  it! 

Lewis. 
Ah  then — [With  covered  eyes,  turning  to  door.] 

Swift. 

Wait — Lewis — wait.  [Going  to  him,  his  hand  on  his 
shoulder.]  Tell  me,  isn't  just  my  wounded  pride  that  re- 
fuses ? 


DE  AN     SW  IF  T  43 

Lewis. 
I  only  know,  sir,  that  my  country  needs  you — that  the 
Tory  party  is  about  to  fall — perhaps  never  to  rise  again — . 
God,  Swift — I  can  already  hear  those  damnable  Whigs 
even  now  shouting  "victory" — Swift — Swift — . 

Swift. 
[Surrendering  without   enthusiasm.]      Yes — yes — Tis 
my  duty  to  return — 'Tis  my  duty — [Hurries  to  table,  takes 
letters  from  drawer,  divides,  thrusting  one  pile  back  into 
drawer.] 

Lewis. 
Now  God  be  thanked  indeed — [Door  2  opens.  Lewis, 
showing  fear  of  interruption,  turns  quickly.  Patrick 
enters,  carrying  a  small  tray,  on  which  are  two  small 
glasses  and  flask  of  wine.  Lewis  gaily  takes  it  from 
Patrick,  puts  tray  on  table,  thrusts  the  pile  of  letters 
into  Patrick's  hands  and  gently  pushes  him  to  left. 
Swift  now  in  a  day-dream  with  frowning  brow.]  To  the 
quay,  man,  to  the  quay — .  Ask  for  the  good  ship  "Orient." 
Hurry — hurry — [Exit  Patrick  with  stolid  look.  Coming 
to  table,  filling  both  glasses,  still  fearing  interruption. 
Pushing  glass  to  Swift,  who  still  dreams.  Raising  his 
own  glass.]  To  Tory  success — to  victory — to  Swift — to 
the  gown  of  Canterbury — . 

Swift. 
[His  hand  finding  the  glass  but  not  raising  it.  Dream- 
ily.]    Canterbury — . 

Lewis. 
To    Jonothan    Swift — to    History,    that    shall    acclaim 
Jonothan  Swift  as  England's  greatest  Primate! 

Swift. 
[As  before.]     Canterbury — [moving  to  right.] 

Lewis. 
[Gayly,  intercepting.]     Where  away,  sir? 


44  DEAN     SWIFT 

Swift. 
[As  before.]    Why —  to  prepare  to  depart — . 

Lewis. 
Why,  sir — your  cabin's  prepared — that  is — Lord  Treas- 
urer hoping — you  understand — [Leading  him  to  left  as 
second  boom  of  cannon  is  heard.]  Hark,  sir — we  must 
be  off — the  tide  is  at  flood,  sir — [Snatching  Swift's  cloak 
and  hat  from  pegs  as  he  sees  Stella  enter,  followed  by 
Dingley  bearing  a  larger  tray  covered  by  a  white 
napkin  from  door  3.] 

Swift. 
[Turning    and    crossing    with    same    dreamy    look    to 
Stella  as  Dingley  puts  tray  on  table.    Taking  Stella's 
hand.]     Farewell,  child — .     I  leave  ye  safe  in  Dingley's 
care — . 

Stella. 
[Clinging  to  his  hand.]    You — you  are  leaving  Dublin — 
leaving  me? 

Swift. 
[As    before.]      Yes — yes — 'tis    duty    calls — duty    and 
Canterbury — [Another  boom  of  cannon.    Swift  turns  to 
Lewis.] 

Lewis. 
Come,  Swift — we  must  be  off — [Giving  hat  as  to  a  con- 
querer  and  throwing  the  cloak  over  Swift's  shoulder. 
Swift  mechanically  exits  door  1  without  a  backward 
look.  Lewis  salutes  the  two  women  with  a  radiant  smile, 
exits,  door  1  closed.] 

Stella. 
[With   a    bitter   cry.]      Swift— SWIFT—  [Falls   face 
down,  into  chair  at  table.     Dingley  stares  with  clenched 
hands  at  door  1  then  draws  Stella's  head  to  her  bosom 
with  a  look  of  pity.] 

End  of  the  First  Act. 


THE  SECOND  ACT 

Drawing-room  of  the  Van  Homrigh  Home,  London. 
A  morning  in  July,  three  months  later. 

A  richly  furnished  room,  garish  in  style,  but  attractive. 
The  entrance  door  1  is  at  left,  a  corridor  leading  off 
from  it.  To  right  of  this  door  is  a  wide,  open  window 
giving  a  glimpse  of  street.  To  right  of  window  is 
door  2  opening  outward  into  what  is  supposed  to  be 
the  coffee-room.  Door  3  is  down  to  the  extreme  right 
and  also  opens  outward.  All  doors  and  the  window 
are  draped  with  silken  hangings.  At  left  is  a  round 
table.  On  it  is  a  quaint  box  holding  a  pack  of  cards, 
a  blue  satin  bon-bon  box  and  a  vase  of  flowers.  At 
right-centre  is  an  escritoire  holding  pens,  ink,  paper 
and  a  small  red-covered  book.  Chairs  set  about. 
Flowers  placed  lavishly  here  and  there. 

At  Rise.  Mrs.  Van  Homrigh,  aged  forty,  sits  at  the 
table,  a  small  mirror  in  hand,  with  which  she  is  in- 
tently surveying  the  set  of  her  "turban."  Extrava- 
gantly dressed,  curled  brown  wig,  paint,  powder  and 
beauty-spots.  Good-natured,  superficial  and  ambitious 
only  for  her  children. 


46  DEAN     SWIFT 

Molly  Van  Homrich,  aged  twenty,  a  charming  duplicate 
of  her  mother  in  extravagant  dress,  vivacious  and 
saucy,  sits  at  the  harpischord  strumming  away  noisily. 

Richard  Hays,  aged  twenty-three,  a  handsome  youth  in 
the  uniform  of  an  English  dragoon,  paces  along  at 
right.  Richard  is  quick-tempered  yet  manly.  He  bites 
his  nails,  tears  a  flower  to  pieces  and  tosses  it  away, 
keeping  watch  on  door  3. 

Jeems,  the  privileged  servant  in  livery,  aged  forty,  stands 
at  door  1,  a  small  silver  tray  in  hand  on  which  are 
several  slips  of  white  paper. 

Molly. 
[With  a  final  crash  of  keys.     Jumping  up,  coming  to 
table.]     Pah — 'tis  wearisome  to  play  to  a  dull  audience — . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
Thank  heaven,  Molly  child,  you've  quit  makin'  a  noise 
as'd  wake  the  seven  sleepers — . 

Molly. 
Mama  dear,   'tis  yourself  has  a  poor  ear  for  music. 
Where  be  the  cards?     I'll  tell  me  own  fortune — [taking 
cards  from  box,  sitting  at  table  opposite  her  mother  and 
beginning  to  shuffle  them.] 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
[Displaying  turban.]     Is't  on  straight,  Molly  child? 

Molly. 
Straight  wi'  the  part  o'  your  hair,  mother.     Ah — ye 
silly  old  woman — 'tis  an  eye  for  a  second  father  for  us 
you've  gotten — . 


DE  AN     8WIF  T  47 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
For  shame,  Molly — an'  your  dada  only  five  years  gone — 
'Tis  not  respectful  to  me  ye  are — . 

Molly. 
Why  shud  I  be  when  ye  look  like  a  younger  sister? 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
[Laughing.]     Shame  on  ye,  Molly — [admiring  herself 
in  mirror.] 

Molly. 
[Spreading  out  cards.]     Come  hither,  cousin  Richard 
and  list  to  me  readin'  me  fortune — . 

Richard. 
Pah — pah — let  me  be,  Molly — [listening  at  door  3.] 

Molly. 
Oho — aha,  cousin  Richard — . 

Richard. 
Let  be,  I  tell  you — . 

Molly. 
But  hanging  round  yonder  door  won't  bring  Esther  in 
any  the  quicker — . 

Richard. 
I  tell  you  I'm  not  waiting  for  Esther — I'm  not. 

Molly. 
Then  why  are  ye  marchin'  about  ?    To  wear  out  mama's 
carpet  ? 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
Be  quiet,  Molly.     Let  the  boy  alone. 


48  DEAN     SWIFT 

Jeems. 
Ahem— AHEM— . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
Who  is  it,  Molly  child? 

Molly. 
Tis  only  Jeems,  mother. 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
Come  hither,  Jeems — [laying  down  mirror.  Jeems 
comes  to  table,  puts  tray  on  same,  salutes,  backs  to  left, 
exits  door  1.  Scanning  slips  with  dismay.]  Bills — bills — 
ach  one  of  'em  manin'  a  fortune  gone  from  the  spout  o' 
a  coffee-pot — My — oh  my — . 

Molly. 
[Holding  up  cards.]     Look,  Richard,  a  dark  man  has 
me  in  mind — middle-aged,  wi'  a  crown  on  his  head — see — 
the  king  o'  spades — . 

Richard. 
Stuff — pah — . 

Molly. 
Ah-h — Would  it  were  a  jack  of  hearts  instead.  Patience, 
cousin  Richard,  she'll  soon  appear — . 

Richard. 
[Angrily,  leaving  door  for  window.]     Damnation — . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
[Dismally.]      Faith,    we've   used    a   power   o'    coffee 
lately — .     Look,  Molly,  at  these  bills  to  pay — . 

Molly. 
'Tis  proud  ye  shud  be  that  such  great  men  come  here 
to  drink  your  coffee — .    Lord  Treasurer  Oxford,  Boling- 
broke,  little  Lewis  and  the  g-r-e-a-t  genius  o'  the  world, 
Dean  Jonothan  Swift. —    Eh,  Richard? 


DEAN     SWIFT  49 

Richard. 
Swift?     Pah — pah,  I  say — ! 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
A  fortune  gone — a  fortune  for  just  brown  beans ! 

Molly. 
[Jumping  up,  runs  round  table,  snatches  tray.]  Away 
wi'  your  bills — [Runs  with  same  to  escritoire,  leaves  them 
there,  returns  to  table,  sits,  pushes  over  cards.]  Cut  the 
cards,  mother,  an'  see  if  either  o'  your  girls'll  win  a  hus- 
band— . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
[Tearfully,  shuffling  cards.]     Ye'll  both  be  spinsters  on 
my  hands  since  neither  o'  yell  take  what's  offered  ye. 

Molly. 
O-oh — mama — 'deed — 'deed  I'd  marry  a  scarcrow  had 
he  a  bag  o'  guineas  and — a  fine  fat  cough — As  for  my 
sister — . 

Richard. 
An'  this  be  a  tellin'  o'  Esther's  secrets  I'll  not  listen — 
[But  listening  intently.] 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
If   Esther's  wise   she'll   reach   for   the   coronet   that's 
waitin'  for  her  when  that  ould  harridan  passes  out.     For 
'tis  plain  that  her  nephew  adores  your  sister — . 

Molly. 
Ye  mean  young  Lovelace? 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
Aye — nephew  to  a  duchess — . 

Molly. 
Lovelace,   whom    Swift   calls   a   silly   young   ass — and 
worse — . 


50  DE  AN     SWIF  T 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
[ Sharply.]      Let  the  Dean  not  concern  himself  about 
Hesses  heart-affairs.     Let  him  concern  himself  with  his 
Tories  an'  his  Whigs — .    Where's  Esther  this  mornin'  ? 

Molly. 
Studyin'  French  in  her  chamber — . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
French!     'Twas  Latin  the  day  before — .     'Twill   be 
Greek  tomorrow.     Ah — would  that  Swift'd  stop  urging 
Essie  to  books.     'Tis  no  employment   for  a  woman  o' 
fashion — . 

Molly. 
But  since  Esther  hates  the  powder  an'   despises   the 
beauty-spots  that  you  and  I  swear  by — . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
Aye — that's  true.     What's  gotten  into  the  girl  lately? 

Molly. 
What  all  London's  aware  of — that  Esther  is  in  love. 
Eh,  Richard? 

Richard. 
Pooh — pooh — . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
In  love?    And  wi'  who,  Molly? 

Molly. 
Wi'  the  g-r-e-a-t  genius  of  the  world — Dean  Jonothan 
Swift—. 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
In  love  wi'  Swift!!!     A  mere  parson — .     When  she 
can  choose  from  half  a  dozen  o'  his  betters?     My — oh 
my —  [weepingly.  ] 


DEAN     SWIFT  51 

Molly. 
[Running    to    embrace    her.]      There,    mother,    there! 
Weep  not — 'tis  a  love  as  one-sided  as  the  handle  o'  a 
pitcher,  for  Swift  dreams  not  o'  Hesses  passion  for  him — . 

Richard. 

Then  why  does  he  write  poems  to  her  in  his  newspaper  ? 
Where  is  the  thing?  [Fumbling  over  things  at  escretoire.] 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
Poems — to  my  daughter  Esther?     Ah-h  'twill  set  all 
Lunnun  talking ! 

Richard. 
Aye,  aunt,  they're  talking  now.  [Finding  a  slip  of  paper 
in  red-covered  book.]     Esther's  cut  the  thing  from  the 
printed  page  and  hidden  it  here  in  this  book.    Listen — . 

Molly. 
[Snatching  poem  from  Richard  and  reading  it   ex- 
pressively, with  sly  glances  at  Richard.] 

Would  from  her  height  of  youth  and  beauty 
Stoop  low  to  weary  pilgrim's  hand 
My  lady  fair?     For  wifely  duty 
Leave  all  this  world  can  give, 
At  my  command? 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
"For  wifely  duty!"     Good  God — 'tis  a  declaration  of 
love! !     [Weeping  into  her  handkerchief.] 

Molly. 
[Replacing  slip  into  book,  putting  book  on  escritoire. 
Gayly.]     Nay,  mother — 'tis  just — poetry! 

Richard. 
[Savagely.]     Poetry?    Bah — 'tis  trash! 


52  DE  AN     8WIF  T 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
Ah — would  that  the  Dean  had  remained  in  Dublin! 

Molly. 
What,  mother!  Would  you  have  lost  to  England  the 
Dean's  wonderful  services?  Swift — that  has  made  the 
Queen  end  the  war — that  has  already  compelled  her  to 
recall  her  "great  general"  an'  put  a  stop  to  his  robbing 
England's  treasury? 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
Aye — that  I  would,  since  Esther — . 

Molly. 
Sh-h-h— 

[Enter  Esther  Van  Homrigh  at  door  3.  She  is  lovely, 
richly  but  simply  dressed,  wearing  neither  powder,  paint 
nor  beauty-spots.  At  the  age  of  twenty-two,  her  carriage 
and  self-possession  is  in  striking  contrast  to  that  of  the 
two  other  women.  Richard  devotedly  places  a  chair  and 
footrest.  With  a  mere  nod  of  thanks  Esther  sinks  into 
chair,  her  hand  reaching  for  the  red-covered  book,  which 
she  opens  and  reads.  Richard  signals  this  to  Molly, 
who  shrugs.] 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
Well,  Esther,  is't  Greek  or  Latin  this  mornin'? 

Esther. 

[Not  looking  from  page.]  Tis  neither,  mother.  Tis  a 
recipe  for  making  puddings  without  plums — . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 

[Eagerly.]  Puddin's  wi'out  plums — [Coming  down.] 
Show  me  the  line,  child? 


DE  AN     8WI F  T  53 

Esther. 
[Pressing  the  page  to  her  bosom  quickly.]     No — no — I 
cannot — . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
'Tis  not  there?  Then  let  me  telle  that  recipes  for 
puddin's  be  better  readin'  than  studyin'  Greek  wi'  a 
gown  o'  forty- four — !  Faith,  I'll  give  Swift  a  bit  o'  my 
mind  when  he  calls  this  mornin' — [Esther  resumes 
reading.] 

Molly. 

When  ye  know,  mother,  that  you'll  be  like  the  rest  of 
us — listenin'  and  adorin'  his  wonderful  genius — . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 

'Deed  an'  I'll  tell  him  he's  no  business  to  waste  Hesses 
time  wi'  Greek  an'  Latin  when  she  might  be  at  the  play 
an'  the  dance — . 

Esther. 
The  play — !     The  dance!     I  leave  such  silly  pleasures 
for  fools! 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 

[Crossing  to  Esther  threateningly.]  This — to  my  face? 
When  your  sister  an'  myself — . 

Molly. 

[Snatching  up  tray  with  bills  and  running  to  her 
mother.]  Come  away,  mama — Let's  leave  Hess  to  her 
puddin's  without  plums — . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 

[Going  with  Molly  to  right.]  Aye — an*  to  her  poem — 
ha  ha — [Exit  both  to  door  3.] 


54  DEAN     SWIFT 

Richard. 

[Hovering  behind  Esther,  summoning  courage  to  ad- 
vance. Finally  going  to  behind  her  chair.]  Ahem — 
[Esther  takes  no  notice.]  Ahem — I  say,  Cousin 
Esther — . 

Esther. 

[Reading.]     Are  you  still  there,  Richard? 

Richard. 
Am  I  not  always  near  when  you  condescend  to  appear  ? 
Ah,  would  that  I  too  were  a  page  o'  print — . 

Esther. 
[Reading,  but  reaching  a  hand.]     No — no — Cousin — . 
When  I  like  you  as  you  are. 

Richard. 
Ah — if    you'd   only   prove   that! — [Kissing   her   hand 
ardently.]     Esther — [dropping  on  one  knee.]     I  offer  you 
a  life's  devotion — . 

Esther. 
[Impatiently.  Withdrawing  her  hand.]    Richard!  After 
all  your  promises — . 

Richard. 
But  what's  a  "promise"  when  every  fibre  o'  my  being's 
calling  for  you  ?    Esther — Esther — . 

Esther. 
Silly  boy  !     Why  not  learn  dignity — . 

Richard. 
[Jumping  up.]     "Dignity!"    I  leave  that  for  your  par- 
son— 'tis  his  stock  in  trade ! 

Esther. 
[Rising  with  scorn.]     Thou  jealous  creature — !    To  in- 
sult the  Dean  behind  his  back — ! 


DEAN     SWIFT  55 

Richard. 
Bah — I'll  say  it  to  his  face  if  ye  dare  me  to! 

Esther. 
[Pointing  to  door  1.]     Go,  sir — go — ! 

Richard. 

[In  boyish  fury  flinging  himself  to  left.]  Hah — so  ye 
can  waste  time  on  Swift's  poem ! ! !  [Running  out  at 
door  1.] 

Esther. 
Swift's  poem — and  to  me!    Ah — [Reading  poem  with 
sweet  emotion.] 

Would  from  her  height  of  youth  and  beauty 
Stoop  low  to  weary  pilgrim's  hand 
My  lady  fair?     For  wifely  duty 
Leave  all  this  world  can  give, 
At  my  command? 

"For  wifely  duty."  "Leave  all  this  world  can  give — " 
Ah — I  could — I  would — .  Ah — he  loves  me — he  loves 
me — [Pressing  poem  to  lips  as  Jeems  enters  door  1.] 

Jeems. 
Ahem — Mistress  Esther — . 

Esther. 
[Hiding  the  poem  in  bosom.]     Yes,  Jeems?     [Throw- 
ing book  on  escritoire.] 

Jeems. 

A  coach  and  four  at  the  door — My  Lord  Lovelace 
and — . 

Esther. 

[Running  to  right.]  Lovelace!  No — no — Jeems — I'll 
not  see  him — [exits  door  3.    Jeems  returns  to  door  1.] 


56  DE  AN     SWIFT 

[Enter  the  Duchess  of  Marlbro,  almost  walking  over 
Jeems  who  backs,  bowing  to  centre.  The  Duchess,  aged 
forty-five,  is  extravagantly  dressed,  powdered  and  painted. 
Insolent  manner,  cackling  laugh.  Lord  Lovelace  follows 
with  eager  look  about  him.  Powdered  wig,  short  sword, 
laces,  satins,  an  egotistical  fop,  aged  twenty-eight.  The 
Duchess  backs  Jeems  to  centre  while  Lovelace  perches 
himself  on  table  as  if  at  home  and  begins  to  eat  the  bon- 
bons from  the  box  there.  A  tall  Indian  servant  of  the 
Duchess  remains  stolidly  at  door  1.  Indian  dress,  white 
turban,  brilliant-colored  silken  sash,  a  dagger  thrust 
through  same.  Being  mute,  he  takes  his  mistress'  orders 
by  signs  and  replies  with  the  same.] 

Duchess. 
Well,    my   man — 'tis   bad    manners   to    stare   at   your 
betters — . 

Lovelace. 
[Laughing.]    Lor,  Aunt — . 

Duchess. 
Where  are  those  ye  serve?    Bid  'em  be  aware  that  her 
Grace  o'  Marlbro  is  here — [Jeems  bows,  backing  out  at 
door  3.    Duchess  begins  to  feel  the  draperies.] 

Lovelace. 
Aunt — I'll  thank  ye  to  be  gentler  wi'  the  servants  o' 
this  house — . 

Duchess. 
Pooh!     Why  shud  I  be? 

Lovelace. 
Because  the  mistress  here  has  always  made  me  wel- 
come^— . 


DEAN     SWIFT  57 

Duchess. 
Heir  to  a  dukedom?    The  creature's  wise. 

Lovelace. 
And  because   I   adore  her  lovely  daughter.      So  that 
even  a  servant — . 

Duchess. 
Pooh !    I'd  ha'  honored  the  man  had  I  tweaked  his  nose. 
'Fore  God — these  draperies  be  of  finest  silk  an'  there  be 
flowers    eno'     here    to    supply    me    wi'     bouquets     for 
a  f or'night !    These  commoners  be  rich — . 

Lovelace. 
Yes.  Old  Van  Homrigh  had  a  coffee  plantation  in 
Sumatra  or  was  it  Java  ?  Then,  when  he  flickered  out,  his 
widow  brought  her  two  fair  daughters  to  settle  here  in 
London.  Mistress  Esther's  the  best-educated  girl  in  Eng- 
land. Speaks  Latin  an'  Greek  an'  French.  Think  what  a 
help  she'll  be  to  me  at  the  Embassy? 

Duchess. 
Humph!    An'  where  did  the  young  jade  learn  all  that? 

Lovelace. 
[Evasively.]     Er — from  books,  of  course. 

Duchess. 
[Startled,  coming  down  quickly.]      Looke,  nephew,  if 
this  girl's  the  wondrous  pupil  o'  the  Dean — . 

Lovelace. 
Well — an*  if  she  is? 

Duchess. 
[Looking  about  her.]    Hah — this  must  be  the  very  room 
where  Swift  penned  his  damnable  pamphlets  that  spoiled 
Marlbro's  plans  an'  cut  off  the  stream  o'  gold  just  ready 


58  DE  AN     SWIF  T 

to  reach  his  hands — that  made  the  Queen  stop  the  war  an* 
call  back  her  army.  'Fore  God — it  must  ha'  been  here 
that  Swift  an'  his  Tories  plotted  to  lose  me  the  Gold  Key — 
access  to  her  Majesty's  bed-chamber — [Turning  quickly.] 
No — no — I'll  none  o'  your  love  affairs — I  wash  my  hands 
o'  them — . 

Lovelace. 
Go  then — an'  be  damned  to  ye ! 

Duchess. 
[Looking  back.]     Then  ye  mean  to  marry  the  girl? 

Lovelace. 
If  I  can  get  her  in  no  other  way — yes. 

Duchess. 
[Coming  down,  in  tearful  fury.]     Then  I'll  cut  ye  off 
wi'  a  shillin' — 

Lovelace. 
Pooh!     Since  you've  just  paid  all  my  debts — . 

Duchess. 
Aye — jeweled  garters  for  married  jade — necklaces  for 
court  hussies — Ah-ah — . 

Lovelace. 
[Going  to  her.    Soothingly.]     Help  me  to  France  with 
this  girl  an'  you're  rid  o'  me  for  six  months — . 

Duchess. 
But — she's  a  friend  o'  the  Dean — I  dare  not — . 

Lovelace. 
Pooh!    A  mere  parson! 


DE  AN     SWIF  T  59 

Duchess. 
Hah — ye've  never  seen  Swift  in  a  fury — .     Ah — Jove 
an*    his    thunderbolt's    naught    to    him — [Going    again.] 
No — no — I  dare  not — . 

Lovelace. 
[Seising  her  hand  and  indicating  those  at  right.]  Aunt! 
[Molly  enters,  half -sup  porting  her  mother  who,  already 
overwhelmed    by    the    Duchess'    visit   is    beginning    to 
curtesy.] 

Molly. 
Lud,  mama — she's  only  a  woman — just  as  you  and  I — . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
But — child — a  Duchess  ! ! !     [Both  coming  forward.] 

Lovelace. 
[Bringing  the  Duchess  down.]     Ladies — the  dearest 
o'  aunts — her  Grace  o'  Marlbro — Aunt — the  ladies  Van 
Homrigh — . 

Molly. 
[Saluting  gayly.]     Your  Grace — . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
[Overwhelmed  again.     Saluting.]     Your  Grace  honors 
this  house — . 

Duchess. 
[Ignoring  her  and  appraising  Molly.]     So,  nephew — . 
This  be  your  flame — . 

Molly. 
Ha  ha — no — your  Grace — . 

Lovelace. 
[Saluting   Molly.]      If    'twere   not   for   her    sister — 
[Molly  drops  a  saucy  curtesy.] 


60  DEAN     SWIFT 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
Your  Grace  means  my  daughter,  Esther — . 

Duchess. 
[Insolently.]     My  good  woman,  speak  when  spoken  to. 
[Molly  seises  her  mother's  hand  and  turns  as  if  to  lead 
her  out.] 

Lovelace. 
[Preventing.]     Ladies,  pardon  my  aunt's  bad  temper. 
But  she's  just  lost  some  thousand  o'  pounds — . 

Duchess. 
Aye — pay  in'  the  debts  o'  a  rascally  nephew — . 

Lovelace. 
[Quickly,  saluting  Mrs.  Van  Homrigh.]     Her  Grace 
is  here  this  morning  to  ask  for  your  daughter  Esther's 
hand  as  my  wife. 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
My     daughter's     hand     in     marriage — [overwhelmed 
again.] 

Lovelace. 
Yes — Yes — for    I    love — adore    her — [Esther    enters 
door  3.     Lovelace  salutes  her,  standing  with  his  hand 
on  his  heart.] 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
Oh,  your  lordship — 'tis  a  great  honor — [Seeing  Esther 
and  hurrying  to  her.]     Child — child — here's  the  best  offer 
o'  all — Thy  fortune's  made — your  chance  for  a  crownet — 
[bringing  Esther  down.] 

Lovelace. 
Mistress  Esther — ! 

Esther. 
[Coldly.]     Your  lordship — ! 


DEAN     SWIFT  61 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
This,  your  Grace,  is  my  daughter  Esther — who  speaks 
the  Latin,  the  Greek  an'  the  French — . 

Duchess. 

[Walking    over    Mrs.    Van    Homrigh    to    appraise 
Esther.]    So — Lovelace,  this  is  the  wondrous  creature — . 

Lovelace. 
The  fairest  girl  in  England,  Aunt,  nay,  in  all  the  uni- 
verse— . 

Duchess. 
Good  enough  form,  fair  enough  face — . 

Esther. 
[Resenting  the  appraisal.   Haughtily.]     Your  Grace — . 

Duchess. 
And  as  haughty  a  mien  as  the  parson's  own.    No  pow- 
der nor  beauty-spots?     The  parson  forbids  'em,  eh? 

Esther. 
If  your  Grace  refers  to  Dean  Jonothan  Swift — ! 

Duchess. 
Aye — none  other — him  as'd  be  bishop  o'  Canterbury — 
ha  ha — but  for  a  certain  Duchess — [Esther  moves  away 
with  haughty  look.  Aside  to  Lovelace.]  Lookee, 
nephew,  it  pleases  me,  after  all,  to  help  you  humble  yonder 
haughty  minx — . 

Lovelace. 
Thanks,  aunt — . 

Duchess. 
[To  Mrs.  Van  Homrigh.]     Listen,  my  good  woman. 
My  nephew  there  is  to  cross  to  France  tomorrow.     But 
wishes  not  to  go  alone.     So,  if  your  daughter  will  accept 
his  offer — . 


62  DEAN     SWIFT 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
Aye,  she  shall,  an'  wi'  thanks  to  your  Grace — [Duchess 
insolently  turns  again  to  appraise  hangings.     Mrs.  Van 
Homrigh  joins  Molly  at  harpischord.] 

Lovelace. 
[Going  to  Esther.     Ardently.]      Mistress  Esther — I 
adore  you — .     I  can't  live  without  you — . 

Esther. 
Yet  it  is  but  ten  days  since  we  met — . 

Lovelace. 
But  'twas  love  at  first  sight.     Say  that  you'll  go  to 
France  wi'  me — . 

Esther. 
No — no — I  must  refuse. 

Lovelace. 
Hah — then  you  love  another? 

Esther. 
I  do  not  care  to  leave  England — . 

Lovelace. 
But  I'll  not  take  "no"   for  an  answer — [seising   her 
hand.] 

Esther. 
It  must  be  "no."     [Breaking  from  him  and  leaving  her 
handkerchief  in  his  hand,  moving  down  right.] 

Lovelace. 
[To  Mrs.  Van  Homrigh  at  centre.]     If  you'll  speak 
a  good  word  for  me — ? 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
Oh,  your  good  lordship — 'twill  be  a  dozen  words. 


DEAN     SWIFT  63 

Duchess. 
[Impatiently.]     Well,  nephew,  well — ? 

Lovelace. 
Patience,  Aunt,  patience — . 

Duchess. 
Bah — let  her  take  ye  or  leave  ye — [Exits  door  1  quickly, 
followed  by  her  servant.] 

Lovelace. 
[To  Mrs.  Van  Homrigh.]     I'll  return  for  her  answer 
in  an  hour. 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
Your  good  lordship — 'twill  be  "yes." 

Lovelace. 
[Kissing  her  hand.]    Ah-h — Mistress  Molly — . 

Molly. 
Your  lordship — [curt ey sing,  Lovelace  kisses  her  hand. 
Richard  enters  door  1  pauses  there,  taking  in  the  scene. 
Lovelace  sees  him,  purposely  waves  Esther's  handker- 
chief toward  her,  kisses  it  as  he  nears  Richard.] 

Richard. 
[Meeting  him  at  left.]     That  handkerchief — ? 

Lovelace. 
[Again  pressing  it  to  his  lips  with  smile  to  Esther.] 
'Tis  a  gift  from  your  fair  cousin — . 

Richard. 
You  lie — [reaching  for  and  getting  handkerchief.]  You 
stole  it — . 

Lovelace. 
[Hand  on  sword.]     Give  it  back  to  me — . 


64  DE  AN     SWIFT 

Richard. 
[Holding  up  handkerchief,  hand  on  sword.]     Come  and 
take  it — if  you  dare! 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
RICHARD—!   [Clinging  to  his  arm.] 

Richard. 
Leave  go,  aunt — [To  Lovelace.]     Well,  sir — ? 

Lovelace. 
I  fight  wi'  equals  only — [hurrying  to  door  1.] 

Richard. 
Equals,  eh?     Ha  ha — [Lovelace  hurries  out  door  1.] 
I'll  see  the  whelp  off  the  premises — [going  through  door  1 
on  the  run.] 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
Oh — oh — for  Richard  to  insult — the  heir  to  a  crow- 
net — . 

Molly. 
But  isn't  Dick  the  young  divil?     An'  his  lordship  IS 
a  whelp — . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
His  lordship's  offered  his  hand  and  his  fortune  to  your 
sister.     So  Richard's  sharp  tongue  nor  Esther's  obstinacy 
shall  interfere  not  one  whit  wi'  what's  best  for  my  child's 
future — . 

Esther. 
[Agitatedly.]     No,  mother — I'll  not  accept.     My  body 
is  my  own — . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
The  body  that  I  gave  ye!    An'  never  think  that  I'll  let 
ye  refuse  this  splendid  offer.     To  be  "her  Grace"  when 


BE  AN     8WIF  T  65 

that  harridan  dies — to  be  welcome  to  Court — .     So,  'tis 
settled.     An'  when  his  lordship  returns — . 

Esther. 
[  Pleadingly .  ]     M  other — . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
Be  silent,  Miss.    Years  hence  ye'll  thank  me  for  makin' 
a  Duchess  of  ye — Molly,  wasn't  it  tomorrow  that  the  ould 
harridan  said  his  lordship  was  to  cross  to  France? 

Molly. 
Yes,  mother,  tomorrow. 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 

Then  while  I  look  o'er  Hesses  wardrobe,  do  you,  Molly, 
make  her  see  what's  best  for  her — [exits  door  3.] 

Esther. 
Ah — [sinking  at   table  with  tears.]      Molly — Molly — 
was  ever  a  poor  girl  so  beset — . 

Molly. 
But,  Hessie — it  IS  a  splendid  offer  and  not  one  girl  in 
ten  thousand'd  refuse  it.  A  coronet — to  be  "her  Grace"  at 
some  future  day — . 

Esther. 
But  I  despise  the  man — My  soul  revolts  at  the  thought 
of — [covering  her  eyes.] 

Molly. 
You've  refused  ten  good  offers  in  as  many  months — . 

Esther. 
Because  I  cared  for — not  one  of  them. 


66  BE  AN     SWIF  T 

Molly. 
[Going  to  her,  tenderly.]     Hess — is't  because  you  care 
for  someone  else?     [Esther  rises  and  moves  away  agi- 
tatedly.]    Tell  me,  Esther — . 

Esther. 
Ah — don't  ask  me,   Molly — don't  ask  me — [throwing 
herself  down  again  at  table  with  covered  eyes.] 

Molly. 
[Going  to  her,  taking  down  her  hands.]    Tell  me,  Hess, 
isn't  it  the  Dean  that  you  love? 

Esther. 
[Agitatedly,  after  a  moment.]     Yes — Molly — yes. 

Molly. 
But — does  the  Dean  love  you? 

Esther. 
[Wildly.]     I  know  not — I  only  know  that  I've  given  to 
him  my  heart — my  soul — . 

Molly. 
Ah — poor  Esther — I'm  afriad  'tis  a  waste  o'  affection — . 
You  have  no  chance — . 

Esther. 
[Startled.]     You  mean  that  some  other  woman — . 

Molly. 
I  mean  that  Swift  thinks  naught  but  of  Tory  politics 
and  the  getting  of  the  gown  o'  Canterbury — . 

Esther. 
No — no — I'm  sure  you're  wrong. 


DEAN     SWIFT  67 

Molly. 
But  has  the  Dean  ever  said  that  he  loved  you? 

Esther. 
But — his  poem  of  yesterday.     Here — next  my  heart — . 

Molly. 
Pretty  words — like  bright  beads  on  a  string — . 

Esther. 
But  "for  wifely  duty—"     "For  wifely  duty"  Molly? 

Molly. 
Ah — .    If  that  be  all  your  proofs,  Hess!    Swift  is  sure 
to  hear  of  this,  your  latest  offer — . 

Esther. 
[Quickly.}     No — no — I'll  never  tell  him — . 

Molly. 
Because — ?    [Esther  drops  into   chair  with   covered 
eyes.]     And  when  he  does  hear — Let  us  put  the  Dean  to 
a  test — . 

Esther. 
I  dare  not — . 

Molly. 
You  must,  Hess.    And  if  he  advises  you  to  go  to  the 
arms  of  another  than  himself — A  test — a  test — ! 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
[Entering  again.]     Two  great  trunks  are  ready.     An' 
what's  lackin'  Hess  can  buy  in  Paris — .     Well,  Molly — 
'tis  all  settled,  then  ?    Your  sister  consents — . 

Molly. 
[Aside  to  her  mother.]     'Twill  be  wisdom  to  let  Hess 
alone  for  awhile — . 


68  DE  AN     SW  IF  T 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
But — his   lordship's   to   return    for   his   answer   in   an 
hour — . 

[Jeems  appears  at  door  1.  Swift  enters  in  black  satin 
knee-breeches,  jacket,  silken  stockings,  silver-buckled 
shoes,  "shovel"  hat  and  linen  bands.  His  look  is  gracious, 
as  of  one  sure  of  welcome.] 

Jeems. 
Doctor  Jonothan  Swift,  Dean  of  St.  Patrick's,  Dublin — 
[Swift  gently  pushes  Jeems  aside,  he  salutes,  exits. 
Molly  turns  delightedly  to  Swift.  Mrs.  Van  Homrigh 
comes  smilingly  forward.  Esther  starts  to  come  down, 
pauses  at  right  again.] 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
[Presenting  her  brow.]    Welcome,  Mister  Dean — . 

Swift. 
[Pressing  his  lips  to  her  brow  with  a  comic,  comradely 
smile  to  Molly.]     Your  servant,  ma'am — . 

Molly. 
[With  extravagant  curtesy.]     Hail — g-r-e-a-t  genius  o' 
the  world — .     Hail — Majesty! 

Swift. 
[Pinching  her  ear.]     Silence,  ye  witch.    Wi'  thy  tongue 
waggin'  like  a  church-bell  on  a  Sunday  mornin' — . 

Esther. 
Ah  [tapping  a  foot,  jealously.] 

Molly. 
[Indicating    Esther,    in    lower    tone.]      Beware — be- 
ware— . 


DE  AN     SWIF  T  69 

Swift. 
Pooh — pooh!  A  chair — a  chair  for  a  weary  man — 
[Mrs.  Van  Homrigh  and  Molly  daintily  dust  a  chair 
with  handkerchiefs  and  draw  it  down.  With  pretended 
pomposity,  sinking  into  chair.]  Of  what  use  are  slaves 
but  to  wait  upon  me — ? 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
'Deed,   Mister  Dean,  you're  right  welcome  this  very 
minute — . 

Esther. 
[Appealingly.]     Mother — . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh 
Be  silent.    For  the  Dean  shall  hear.    Doctor,  wi'  no  man 
at  the  head  of  this  house — . 

Swift. 
[Gravely.]     At  your  service,  ma'am. 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh 
There's  Esther,  blind  to  the  luck  that's  ready  at  her 
hand — . 

Esther. 
But,   mother,   a  woman's   heart-affairs  can  be   of   no 
interest  to  the  Dean — . 

Swift. 
[Teasingly.]    And  how  do  you  know  that,  Miss? 

Esther. 
[Agitatedly.]     Ah  then — [sitting  off  at  right.] 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh 
Hesses  offer  of  a  week  ago — the  Yorkshire  baronet  as 
swears  his  son's  the  finest  in  the  kingdom — . 


70  BE  AN     SWIFT 

Swift. 
But,  ma'am,  doesn't  every  ape  believe  that  his  are  the 
finest  monkeys? 

Molly. 
Ha  ha  ha — . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh 
But  another  offer — an  hour  since — [Esther  utters  a 
bitter  cry.] 

Swift. 
[To  help  Esther.]     My  coffee — My  coffee — .  Where's 
my  coffee — . 

Molly. 
[Dragging  her  mother  to  right.]     Come,  mother,  let's 
prepare  the  coffee — the  brown  beans  that  his   Majesty 
loves — [Taking  Mrs.  Van  Homrigh  out  door  2.] 

Swift. 
[Looking  over  at  Esther  who  taps  her  foot  again. 
Swift  smiles,  reading  her  mood.]  Esther — [she  takes  no 
notice.]  Esther — [as  before.]  Humph — [rising,  moving 
to  escritoire,  lifting  and  dropping  articles  there,  yet  watch- 
ing Esther  under  his  brows.]  Cards — in  daylight?  and 
the  rouge-pot  not  far  off — ?  [Esther  starts  at  the  in- 
sinuation. Going  to  her,  looking  down  at  her  as  on  a 
peevish  child,  then  lifting  her  face.  Half -bant  eringly.] 
Esther — 'tis  that  thy  soul  is  jealous  because — . 

Esther. 
[Getting   away.     Passionately,    tearfully.]      'Twas   to 
Molly  that  you  spoke  first — . 

Swift. 
Just  as  I'd  speak  to  a  child  that  hung  about  my  knee — 
[sighing,  returning  to  sink  into  chair  as  if  weary.]    Yet — 
in  all  London  'tis  to  you  only  that  I  am  myself — . 


DE  AN     8WIF  T  71 

Esther. 
[Radiant,  nearing  the  chair.]     Ah-ah — . 

Swift. 
[Moodily.]     Myself  that  you're  so  fond  o'  finding  fault 
with — . 

Esther. 
[Behind  his  chair,  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.]     Ah — 
forgive  me — . 

Swift. 
For  just  as  I  begin  to  forget  that  you  are  a  woman — . 

Esther. 
[Recoiling,  to  herself.]     A  woman! 

Swift. 
Out  blazes  that  sharp  tongue  o'  thine,  demanding  sub- 
mission— . 

Esther. 
[As  before.]     Submission! 

Swift. 
Tis   my   heart — my   weary   heart   you'll   be   attackm' 
next — [in  moody  r every.] 

Esther. 
[Coming  to  his  side.     Tenderly.]     Forgive  me,  Swift. 
But  for  two  long  days  you've  been  away — . 

Swift. 
Yet  half  the  time  my  thoughts  were  here — away  from 
the  quarrels  o'  the  Tory  ministry — . 

Esther. 
[Hurrying  to  bring  a  footstool  and  to  sit  at  his  feet. 
Radiant.]     Oh — how  proud — how  proud  you  make  me? 
Ah,  Swift—. 


72  .  DE  AN     8WIF  T 

Swift. 
[Absently  twining  a  curl  but  NOT  as  a  lover  would.] 
Silly  flatterer — . 

Esther. 
Tis  the  truth — the  truth — [laying  her  cheek   on   his 
hand.) 

Swift. 
[Withdrawing  his  hand.]     Cease,  thou  foolish  child — . 

Esther. 
And  your  poem  of  yesterday — [touching  bosom.]  See — 
'tis  here — . 

Swift. 
Pooh — a  jingle  o'  words — rhymes  that  mean  nothing — . 

Esther. 
[Taking  out,  kissing,  replacing  poem.]     Here — next  my 
heart — . 

Swift. 

Pah — destroy  the  thing — . 

Esther. 
Nay,  I'll  keep  it  forever ! 

Swift. 
[Moodiness  rising  to  fierce  anger.]  Would  that  Lord 
Treasurer  Oxford  were  as  kind.  He  calls  me  "Jonothan" 
and  "friend  Swift."  But  I  begin  to  believe  that  his  min- 
istry means  to  leave  me  as  they  found  me — a  hedge-par- 
son— flattered — caressed  and  neglected! 

Esther. 
[With    deep    sympathy.]       Would    Lord    Treasurer 
DARE — after  his  promises — over  his  own  signature? 


BE  AN     SWI  F  T  73 

Swift. 
Promises?  The  promises  of  a  politician!  Hell  is 
paved  with  them !  The  Tory  ship  o'  state  is  weatherin'  the 
storm — 'Tis  the  "Irish  parson's"  kept  it  afloat  these  three 
months — .  Delvin'  into  problems  to  fatten  the  treasury — 
reachin'  after  ends  so  hard  to  find  that  my  pillow's  not 
known  me  for  many  a  night — . 

Esther. 
What    base    ingratitude!      But    Canterbury — 'Tis    re- 
ported that  tonight — at  Lord  Treasurer's  gardens  you're 
to  get  your  commission — . 

Swift. 
Pah — I'll  believe  that  when  I  hold  the  parchment  in 
these  two  hands — [moving  agitatedly  about.     Then,  ex- 
plosively.]    Nay — 'twill  be  better  to  leave  London — . 

Esther. 
[Aside,  agitatedly.]     Leave  London?     [Covering  her 
eyes.] 

Swift. 
And  kill  the  demon  of  ambition  that's  devourin'  me! 
[In  surprise,  going  to  her.]     Esther? 

Esther. 
[Recovering.]     Ah — don't  mind  me — . 

Swift. 
[Lifting  her  face.]     Are  those  tears  that  I  see? 

Esther. 
[Moving  away.]     Nay — 'tis  just — the  vapors. 

Swift. 
Nay,  Esther — 'tis  the  shadow  o'  my  unhappy  self  de- 
mandin'  thy  soul's  sympathy — . 


74  dean    swift 

Esther. 
Nay — you  are  wrong — . 

Swift. 
[Gayty.]     Ah  then — 'tis  an  idle  young  hussy  that'd  bet- 
ter be  shakin'  her  heels  to  the  tune  o'  a  fiddle  than  be 
listenin'  to  the  woes  o'  a  gown  o'  forty-four — . 

Esther. 
I  tell  you — you  are  wrong. 

Swift. 
Then  Hess,  you're  in  love.     Tell  me  the  name  o'  the 
lucky  man — . 

Molly. 
[Warningly,  from  door  3.]  Ahem — [coming  down, 
followed  by  Mrs.  Van  Homrigh.  Swift's  manner  has 
not  changed.  But  Esther's  has.  She  flies  to  the  escre- 
toire,  snatches  up  red  book,  pretends  to  read.]  Your 
Majesty's  coffee's  ready — . 

Swift. 
Ah — ye  good  child — . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh 
[Frowning  at  Esther.]     'Deed,  Mr.  Dean,  I  greatly 
deplore  that  you've  taught  Hessie  to  love  books — [Molly 
sits  at  harpischord,  softly  touching  keys  but  listening  to 
the  others.] 

Swift. 
Ye'd  rather,  ma'am,  she'd   feed  a  parrot  or  entertain 
some  brute  in  human  form? 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh 
Aye — that  would  I !    For  Hess,  this  very  instant,  shud 
be  thinkin'  o'  choosin'  a  life-mate — . 


DE  AN     SWIF  T  75 

Molly. 
[Touching  keys  but  speaking  the  words.]      "For  'tis 
love  that  makes  the  world  go  round — ." 

Swift. 
Silence,  ye  witch — . 

Molly. 
"And  leads  us  all  to  matrimony — ." 

Swift. 
"Wi'    its    attendant    children — sickness — discord    and 
loathing — . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh 
[Covering  her  ears.]     Stop,  doctor — stop — . 

Swift. 
Love?     Call  it  "thief"  that'd  rob  ye  of  wit— call  it 
"Lucifer"  that—. 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh 
Stop — Doctor — .     Tis  heresy — .     'Twill  corrupt  my 
girls  an'  make  spinsters  of  them  both — .     Come — coffee 
is  served — [Pleadingly.]     Bid  Esther  make  a  choice  an* 
please  me! 

Swift. 
[With  mock  seriousness.]     She  shall,  ma'am — she  shall 
this  very  day. 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh 
A  million  thanks,  Doctor — [hurrying  to  right  and  out 
door  2.] 

Swift. 
[Going  slowly  to  right,  a  girl  clinging  to  each  arm.] 
Hess — Ye  heard  me  give  my  promise  to  your  good  mother 
just  now?    Faith,  ye  shall  choose,  this  very  day — . 


76  DE  AN     SWIF  T 

Esther. 
[Demurely.]       But     matrimony — with     its     attendant 
children — . 

Swift. 
[Pausing  with  them.]     Hah — . 

Molly. 
Sickness — discord  and  loathing — . 

Swift. 

Of  all  the  PRE-tentious  young  hussies — [All  laughing, 
going  out  door  2.] 

Richard. 

[After  a  moment  Richard  enters  door  1.  He  looks 
about  him  with  a  frown,  hears  Swift  and  Molly  laugh, 
stares  at  door  2,  then  comes  down.]  Drink  coffee  with 
Swift?  I  will  NOT.  [Throws  himself  into  chair  in  boy- 
ish misery,  bites  his  nails,  mops  his  eyes.  Lewis  appears 
at  door  1  with  Jeems.  Dismissing  Jeems,  Lewis  enters. 
Hears  the  gay  voices  from  right,  notes  Richard's  agita- 
tion. He  nods  knowingly,  comes  down  softly  behind 
Richard  and  pokes  his  ribs.  Richard  springs  up 
savagely.]     Who  the  devil — . 

Lewis. 
[Laughing.]     No — .  But  a  distant  relation — . 

Richard. 
Pardon  me,  Lewis.     But  I've  the  most  infernal  tooth- 
ache— . 

Lewis. 

Nay,  Richard — a  heartache.     But  I  know  a  cure. 

Richard. 
Then  in  God's  name  give  it  me. 


DEAN     SWIFT  77 

Lewis. 
[In  guarded  tones,  indicating  door  2.]     The  Dean — ? 

Richard. 
[Sullenly.]     Is  there— taking  coffee  with  the  ladies— 
as  usual. 

Lewis. 

You  must  be  aware,  Richard,  that  your  cousin  Esther's 
name — here  in  London,  is  being  coupled  with  that  of 
Swift—. 

Richard. 

Hah — the  Dean  is  fortunate — . 

Lewis. 
But  there  lives  in  Dublin  another  woman — . 

Richard. 
[Coarsely.]     Oho — the  "pious  parson — ." 

Lewis. 

His  ward — who  dwells  in  his  house — receives  his 
friends — .  Swift'll  marry  Mistress  Stella  Johnson  when 
he  wins  Canterbury — .  So  that  your  cousin  should  be 
warned — . 

Richard. 

Damn  your  parson !  As  for  "warning"  the  lady — warn 
her  yourself — and  be  hanged  to  you — [hurrying  through 
door  1.  Lewis  smiles,  shrugs,  moves  toward  door  2, 
listens,  makes  as  if  to  enter,  then  changes  his  mind,  coming 
dozun  as — ] 

Jeems. 

[Entering  door  1  followed  by  a  richly-dressed,  middle- 
aged  peer,  on  his  breast  a  badge  of  office.  Announcing.] 
My  Lord  Bolingbroke,  Secretary  of  State — [salutes  him, 
exits.    Bolingbroke  enters.] 


78  DE  AN     SWIF  T 

Lewis. 
[Greeting  Bolingbroke  familiarly.]     Ah — Mister  Sec- 
retary of  State — You've  come  for  coffee,  as  usual? 

Bolingbroke. 
Not  for  coffee — this  time.    And — the  Dean? 

Lewis. 
In  Mistress  Van's  coffee-room.    I'll  summon  him — . 

Bolingbroke. 
Er — not  yet,  Lewis — not  yet.     [  Taking  parchment  from 
breast,  with  anxious  look  at  door  2.]     Fact  is — I  want  to 
ask  a  favor  of  the  Dean — . 

Lewis. 
Which    Swift'll    grant — that    is,    if    it's    anything    in 
reason — . 

Bolingbroke. 
But  it  happens  to  be  something  not  in  reason — . 

Lewis. 
Better  not  ask  it,  then. 

Bolingbroke. 
Nor  would  I — had  I  not  promised  an  old  friend — er — 
her  Grace  of  Marlbro — . 

Lewis. 
Her  Grace — !  asking  a  favor  for  her  Grace  of  Marlbro, 
who's   stood  between   Swift  and   Canterbury  these  two 
years?    Why,  sir — Swift'll  never  grant — . 

Bolingbroke. 
Would  to  heaven  I'd  not  promised.    But — since  young 
Lovelace  is  my  god-son — . 


DEAN     SWIFT  79 

Lewis. 
Lovelace — your   god-son?      Gad,    sir,    I    wasn't   aware 
that—. 

BOLINGBROKE. 

A  relationship  I've  never  mentioned  because  of  the 
youth's  profligate  career.  But  since  her  Grace  vows  that 
a  change  of  scene  may  save  him — a  trip  to  France — . 

Lewis. 
With  the  Embassy?  Good  God,  man,  with  a  record 
like  your  god-son's — Swift  is  sure  to  refuse.  Aha — 
fancy  sending  the  nephew  of  the  bitterest  of  Whigs  to 
France  with  the  Tory  Embassy!  No — no — it  can't  be 
done — . 

Lovelace. 

[Pushing  Jeems  aside  rudely  and  hurrying  through 
door  1.]     I  say,  god-father — [Exit  Jeems.] 

BOLINGBROKE. 

[Sharply.]     Didn't  I  warn  you,  sir,  to  remain  outside? 

Lovelace. 
And  I  warn  you,  god-father,  that  I  stir  not  one  step  to 
France  without  Mistress  Esther — . 

Lewis  and  Bolingbroke. 
Mistress  Esther? 

Lovelace. 
Whom  I  love — adore!     Her  Grace  was  here  an  hour 
ago—. 

Bolingbroke. 
Her  Grace — here? 

Lewis. 
Humph — [turning  away.] 


80  DEAN     SWIFT 

Lovelace. 
I  swear  to't.     Her  Grace  asked  for  me — most  form- 
ally— for  the  lady's  hand — .     As  for  the  lady  herself — 
[foppish  gesture.) 

Lewis. 
Your  god-son  must  reckon  with  Swift  on  this,  sir. 

Lovelace. 
With  the  "parson"?     I  fancy  not.     Tis  an  affair  be- 
tween hearts  and  not  dirty  politics. 

Lewis. 
[With  scornful  gesture.]     Pah — . 

BOLINGBROKE. 

[Haughtily.]    If  my  god-son's  offer  to  the  lady  be  made 
in  good  faith — . 

Lovelace. 
My  honor  on't,  god- father — my  sacred  honor — . 
[Door  2  opens.  Molly  and  Esther  appear.  Lovelace 
makes  to  exit  at  door  1  but  changes  his  mind,  retreating  to 
beyond  harpischord.     Bolingbroke,  passing  harpischordr, 
places  parchment  on  it.    Mrs.  Van  Homrigh  and  Swift 
,  follow  the  two  girls  down.     Swift's  face  still  wears  a 
smile.] 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Servant,     ma'am — [kissing     Mrs.     Van     Homrigh's 
hand.]     Ladies — . 

Lewis. 

Morning — morning — [exchange  of  salutes,  laughter,  all 
coming  down.] 

BOLINGBROKE. 

[Saluting  Swift  as  he  comes  down  as  an  equal.]  Morn- 
ing, Swift — [Swift  briefly  nods,  going  to  table.] 


DE  AN     SWIF  T  81 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
Gentlemen — 'tis  not  too  late  for  coffee — . 

Lewis  and  Bolingbroke. 
Not  today — another  time — [Molly  joins  Lovelace  at 
harpischord.    Lewis  joins  Esther  down  right-front.] 

Swift. 
Well,  Bolingbroke — ? 

Bolingbroke. 
[Nervously.]     A  favor  at  your  hands,  Swift — . 

Swift. 
[Imperiously.]  Business  first,  Mr.  Secretary  o'  State — . 
My  orders  'bout  the  fleet? 

Bolingbroke. 
To  Spain,  as  you  advised — . 

Swift. 
And — the  envoy  to  Holland? 

Bolingbroke. 
Gone  as  you  suggested — . 

Molly. 
[Laughing.    To  Lovelace.]    Nay — you  flatter  us  all — . 

Swift. 
[Discovering  Lovelace.    Frowning,  at  table.]     Hah — . 

Bolingbroke. 
Gad,  sir,  you've  cut  out  enough  work  for  the  Tory 
ministry  to  last  a  for'night — . 


82  DE  AN     SWIF  T 

Swift. 
[Meaningly.]     Yet  England's  Secretary  o'  State  finds 
time  to  waste  wi'  fops  an'  fools — [Lovelace  puts  hand  on 
sword.    Molly  leaves  the  harpischord  and  joins  Esther.] 

BOLINGBROKE. 

But — unfortunately  my  god-son — .  Er — Swift — as  you 
are  aware,  the  Embassy  to  France  is  short  of  a  secretary — 
the  place  will  suit  a  young  friend  of  mine — . 

Swift. 
[Briefly.]     Then  give  it  him! 

BOLINGBROKE. 

You  agree  to  that? 

Swift. 
Pooh — why  should  I  refuse? 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Er — because  the  youth  is — of  the  opposite  camp — . 

Swift. 
What,  sir — a  Whig?     Nay — nay — not  while  there  are 
plenty  o'  young  Tories  for  the  place — [Lewis  moves  to 
harpischord.  ] 

BOLINGBROKE. 

But — to  keep  a  promise  to  an  old  friend — Why,  sir, 
with  your  name  on  this  voucher — [hurrying  to  bring  down 
parchment  from  harpischord  and  spreading  it  to  table  be- 
fore Swift]  every  door  in  France  will  open  to  my  god- 
son— . 

Swift. 

[Jeeringly.]  What — send  yonder  fop  an'  fool  to  France 
wi'  the  Embassy?  [Lovelace  with  a  muttered  word  puts 
hand  on  sword.    Lewis  smiles,  forbids  with  shake  of  the 


DEAN     SWIFT  83 

head.]  Yonder  rake — wi'  ambition  no  higher  than  the 
laces  at  his  wrist — ?  Stand  sponsor  for  HIM?  I  will 
not.  Ye  must  be  mad,  Bolingbroke,  to  ask  that  as  a 
"favor."     [Discarding  parchment.] 

Bolingbroke. 

But  suppose  the  youth  has  a  change  of  heart?  [Crossing 
to  Esther.] 

Swift. 
What's  his  change  o'  heart  to  me? 

Bolingbroke. 
But — since  the  lady's  well  known  to  you — [bringing 
Esther  to  center  and  leaving  her  there,  where  she  stands 
agitated,  silent.] 

Swift. 
[Going  to  Esther.    In  lower  tone.]     Good  God,  child, 
is  this  he  that  ye  love?     This  ne'er-do-well — this  titled 
rake — [Mrs.  Van  Homrigh  hurries  to  Swift.]     Ah — 
I  can  not  believe  it — . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
Nay,  doctor — your  promise  of  an  hour  ago — that  Esther 
make  a  choice — . 

Swift. 
But,   ma'am — to   hand  your   daughter  over  to   this — 
this— Ah-h— . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
Pah — 'tis  just  court  gossip — nothing  more.    And  wi'  a 
wife  to  steady  him — . 

Swift. 
Ah — the  pity  of  it — the  pity  of  it — . 


84  BE  AN     SWIFT 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
But  consider,  sir — a  future  duchess!     The  strawberry 
leaves  o'  a  crownet — . 

Swift. 
Ah-h — Where's  the  woman  in  a'  London'd  refuse  the 
chance?    Bolingbroke — [leaving  Esther  and  returning  to 
sit  at  table  with  moody  look.] 

Bolingbroke. 
Swift? 

Swift. 
That  parchment — I'll  sign. 

Bolingbroke. 
Lewis — [who  finds  pen  and  ink-pot  on  escritoire.  He 
brings  both  to  table  where  Bolingbroke  smilingly  speads 
the  parchment  open.  Presenting  pen  with  a  bozv.]  Sign 
here,  sir — [Swift  takes  up  pen,  stares  at  parchment, 
pauses  moodily,  watching  Esther  as  Lovelace  hurries  to 
take  her  hand.] 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
[Tearfully,  joyfully,  to  Molly.]  Ah — Molly — a  future 
duchess  for  thy  sister — a  duchess — . 

Lovelace. 
Mistress  Esther — so  ye'll  go  to  France  wi'  me  tomor- 
row—  [Esther  withdraws  her  hand.]     Nay — nay — let  me 
teach  you  what  love  means — I  adore  you — . 

Esther. 
[With  a  low  cry.]     No — I'll  not  listen — . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
[Scandalized.  ]     ESTHER ! 


DEAN     SWIFT  85 

Lovelace. 
[Flippantly.]     Give  me  time,  ma'am — give  me  time  and 
your  fair  daughter  will — . 

Swift. 
[Dashing  down  pen,  rising  and  coming  down  quickly.  J 
Looke,  sirrah — . 

Lovelace. 
[Insolently.]     What  now,  sir? 

Swift. 
Since  this  house  hath  no  master — as  a  friend  of  all 
under  this  roof — .    This  marriage — Is  her  Grace  aware — . 

Lovelace. 
Her  Grace  was  here  an  hour  ago  and  asked  for  the 
lady's  hand — . 

Swift. 
Bolingbroke — ?    You  vouch  for  the  truth  of  this? 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Yes.     Since  my  god-son's   sworn  it  on  his  word  of 
honor — . 

Swift. 
His  "word  of  honor!"     Pah — [Lovelace's  hand  again 
on  sword.] 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
My  word   for't,   Mister   Dean.      'Twas   her   Grace   as 
asked  me — . 

Lovelace. 
[To  Esther.]     'Tis  as  good  as  done,  Mistress — . 

Swift. 
And — the  ceremony  is — when  ? 


86  DEANSWIF'l 

Lovelace. 
Since  the  Embassy  means  to  cross  channel  tomorrow — 
[taking  Esther's  hand  again.] 

Swift. 
Tomorrow ! ! !    [Looks  at  Esther  with  pity,  utters  a 
deep  sigh,  moves  to  table,  takes  up  pen.]     Bolingbroke — 
I'll  sign  after  all — [Signing  parchment.] 

Lovelace. 
[Taking  Esther  down  front.     In  low,  ardent  tones.] 
Mistress  Esther,  why  so  cold  a  look? 

Esther. 
I  have  told  you  that  I  do  not  love  you.     Would  you 
marry  me,  knowing  that? 

Lovelace. 
Yes — I  would — I  will.  Marry  me — give  me  time  to  win 
you.  Marry  me — go  to  France  with  me  tomorrow — to 
France,  where  the  nights  are  brighter  than  the  days — 
France — the  land  to  love  in — Ah,  Mistress  Esther!  In 
France,  with  me  beside  you — you'll  soon  surrender  to  the 
passion  that's  consumin'  me — Ah — beautiful  body  that'll 
soon  be  in  my  arms — [Embracing  her.] 

Esther. 
No — no — you  must  not — you  shall  not — [Getting  away 
and  coming  down  front  agitatedly.] 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
[Going  to  her,  in  low  tones.]     Child — are  ye  crazy? 

Esther. 
I  warned  you,  mother,  that  my  body  was  my  own — . 


DE  AN     8WIF  T  87 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
Your  conduct  is  scandalous.     Ye  shall  ask  pardon  this 
minute — [Bringing  Esther  down  to  Lovelace.]     Your 
good  lordship — . 

Esther. 
[Appealingly.]      Ah,   mother — [Mrs.   Van   Homrigh 
joins  Molly  at  harpischord.] 

Lovelace. 
All's  forgiven  mistress. 

Esther. 
[Surrendering  to  fate  with  a  bitter  cry.]    Ah — . 

Lovelace. 
[Clasping  Esther.]     Mistress — you- are  mine — mine. 

Swift. 
Looke,  Lovelace — the  name  o'  the  parson's  to  tie  the 
knot —  [ Coming  down  quickly.] 

Lovelace. 
[Angrily.]     Am  I  a  child  that  must  recite  a  lesson? 
Besides,  'tis  an  affair  between  Mistress  Esther  and  myself 
only — [seizing  Esther  again.] 

Swift. 
[Roughly  thrusting  Lovelace  aside  and  stepping  be- 
tween him  and  Esther.]     Come — his  name — the  parson's 
name — . 

Lovelace. 
I  tell  you  'tis  not  your  affair.     [Reaching  across  Swift 
to  Esther.]     Come  away  with  me,  Esther — . 

Esther. 
No — no — I  will  not — I  hate — despise  you — . 


88  DE  AN     SWIF  T 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 
ESTHER! 

Swift. 
[Putting  Esther  behind  him.    Fiercely,  to  Lovelace.] 
So,  sirrah — 'twas  a  mock  marriage  ye'd  planned — . 

Mrs.  Van  Homrigh. 

A  mock  marriage?  My — oh — my — [weeping  into 
handkerchief.  ] 

[Duchess  and  mute  servant  with  Jeems  appear  at  door 
1.    Duchess  signals  to  Jeems — he  vanishes.] 

Swift. 
A   mock   marriage — [walking   almost   over   Lovelace 
with  savage  look,  pointing  to  door  1.]  Liar  and  perjurer — 
Get  ye  hence — [Lovelace  recoils.] 

Duchess. 
[Insolently,  coming  down,  the  mute  remains  at  door.] 
What,  sir  Dean,  be  this  the  language  to  address  to  MY 
nephew  and  an  English  peer? 

Swift. 

Ah — your  Grace  is  just  in  time  to  hear — .  Yonder 
rascal  had  planned  a  mock  marriage — he'd  have  made  of 
Mistress  Esther — . 

Duchess. 

His  mistress?  Ha  ha — What — mistress  to  a  future 
Duke?  'Twould  ha'  made  the  girl  famous.  Tilly-vally, 
sir  Dean — . 

[Swift  crosses  to  Duchess  and  eyes  her  with  a  glance 
of  scorn.  She  quails  and  recoils  with  a  gesture  of  fear. 
Then,  abruptly  turning  his  back  on  her,  coming  to  Boling- 
broke  and  touching  the  badge  on  his  breast.  Sternly.] 
Beware,  mister  Secretary  o'  State,  lest  the  "Irish  parson" 
deprive  ye  of  your  place  in  Parliament — . 


DEAN     SWIFT  89 

BOLINGBROKE. 

[Agitatedly.]     I  call  Lewis  to  witness,  sir,  that  I  be- 
lieved the  offer  an  honorable  one — . 

Swift. 
Bah!  [Going  to  table,  snatching  up,  tearing  the  parch-, 
ment  across  and  discarding  the  pieces.  Indicating  Love- 
lace who  has  backed  to  left.]  As  for  that  place  on  the 
Embassy — ye  can  put  yonder  ass  to  graze  elsewhere! 
[Pointing  to  door.]  Go,  sir,  go.  The  very  air's  polluted 
that  ye  breathe — . 

[Lovelace,  with  hand  on  sword,  suddenly  turns,  rushes 
past  the  Duchess  and  exits  door  1.] 

Esther. 
[As  Molly  runs  to  her  at  centre.]    Ah — Molly — [both 
faces   radiant — the    test   a   proof   of    Swift's    love   for 
Esther.] 

Duchess. 
[Coming  down  a  little.]    Hah,  Swift — ye  shall  rue  this 
day.    Ye  shall  rue  it — .     This  insult  to  my  house — . 

Swift. 
As    for  your    Grace—  [going  to    door   1    lifting    the 
drapery,  with  genial  smile]  we  bid  you  good  morning. 

Duchess. 
[Pausing  under  the  drapery.]     An'  though  'tis  reported 
that  ye  win  the  gown  o'  Canterbury  at  Lord  Treasurer's 
dinner  tonight — your  commission  signed  an'  sealed — . 

Swift. 
[Genially,  as  before.]     A  very  good  morning — . 


90  DEAN     SWIFT 

Duchess. 
Hah — .     I'll  yet  find  a  way  to  thwart  ye — . 

Swift. 

[Genially.]  Try  it,  your  Grace — and  see  which  of  us — 
will  win ! 

[Swift  holding  back  the  drapery  with  genial  smile.  The 
Duchess  glaring  at  him  over  her  shoulder,  the  Indian 
mute  beyond.  Esther  and  Molly  with  radiant  faces, 
watching  Swift.  Mrs.  Van  Homrigh  at  harpischord, 
weeping  into  handkerchief,  consoled  by  Lewis,  who  smiles 
a  little.    Bolingbroke  sits  at  right  with  bent  head.] 

CURTAIN. 

End  of  the  Second  Act. 


THE  THIRD  ACT. 

Scene — Lord  Treasurer's  Garden,  London.  Evening 
of  the  same  day. 

A  wide  lawn  with  a  fountain  or  a  parterre  of  flowers  at 
its  centre.  Half -circling  this  is  a  rustic  seat  round 
which  most  of  the  incidents  occur.  At  left,  at  the 
rear,  is  a  massive  gate  opening  inward  from  the  road. 
To  right  of  gate  along  the  rear  is  a  platform,  a  few 
shallow  steps  leading  to  its  top.  To  extreme  right  of 
this  platform  is  the  door  to  the  banquet-room.  Along 
the  top  of  the  platform  is  a  breast-high  grillwork.  Be- 
low  it  the  road  leading  off  to  both  right  and  left.  At 
the  foot  of  platform  are  two  pedestals  holding  lighted 
flambeaux.  At  the  base  of  both  pedestals  is  dense 
shrubbery  or  vines  about  three  feet  high.  Along  both 
right  and  left  of  lawn  is  shrubbery  and  beyond  the  left 
side  are  trees.  Rustic  seats  here  and  there.  Many 
colored  lanterns,  and  a  moon  rising  on  distant  sky. 

At  rise — The  English  Court  in  full  regalia — the  Tory 
Ministry  and  their  friends.  A  minuet  being  danced 
down  centre  to  the  music  of  an  unseen  orchestra.  A 
footman  stands  at  gate. 

[The  minuet  ends,  the  dancers  move  off.  Two  extrava- 
gantly dressed  ladies  with  escorts  pause  before  the 
curved  seat.] 

Lady  Nettleton. 
[Young,  vivacious.]     Listen,  friends. 


92  DE  AN     SWIF  T 

Her  Friends. 
Let's  hear — little  Nettle — let's  hear. 

Lady  Nettleton. 
Maria  Monckton's  "diamonds"  be  all  of  paste. 

Her  Friends. 
OF  PASTE!!! 

Lady  Nettleton. 
Yes.    At  the  Ballington  ball  last  night,  they  fell  to  the 
floor  and  exploded. 

Her  Friends. 
EXPLODED ! ! ! 

Lady  Nettleton. 
Well — when  they  fell  from  her  bosom  they  broke  into 
bits—. 

Her  Friends. 
Into  bits?     Ha-Ha-Ha— . 

Lady  Nettleton. 
But  I  never  believed  she'd  paid  all  those  guineas  for 
them — . 

Her  Friends. 
[All  moving  to  right.]     Nor  I — nor  I — . 

Lady  Tattleton. 
[A  duplicate  of  Lady  Nettleton  and  friends  come  to 
seat.]     Listen,  friends — stop  and  listen. 

Her  Friends. 
Tell  us — Let  us  hear — . 


DEAN     SWIFT  93 

Lady  Tattleton. 
'Tis  reported  that  when  her  Majesty,  last  week,  sent  a 
messenger   for  the  key   of   the  royal   bed-chamber,   her 
Grace  o'  Marlbro  took  it  from  her  bosom  and  flung  it  on 
the  floor — . 

Her  Friends. 
FLUNG  IT  ON  THE  FLOOR— her  Majesty's  gold 
key— Oh— Oh  —     . 

Lady  Tattleton. 

Yes.  "There  it  is,"  says  she.  "And  give  it  to  whom 
ye  like."    Then  her  Grace  shed  tears — . 

Her  Friends. 
SHED  TEARS?    Ha-Ha-Ha— . 

Lady  Tattleton. 
Tore  off  her  wig  and  danced  on  it — . , 

Her  Friends. 
Danced  on  her  wig?    OH-OH — . 

Lord  Harcourt. 

[An  elderly  Peer  wearing  a  badge  of  office  joins  the 
group.]  Did  you  know  that  her  Grace's  nephew  goes 
not  to  France  with  the  Embassy?  [Cries  of  "not  to 
France"  and  "why  not?"]  Because  the  Dean  refused. 
[Applause.]  And  the  best  news  of  all — [cries  of  "Let's 
hear"]  'Tis  reported  that  the  Dean's  commission  lies  in 
her   Majesty's  bed-chamber — . 

Lady  Tattleton  and  Friends. 
[Startled.]     In  the  Queen's  bed-chamber? 


94  BE  AN     SWIF  T 

Harcourt. 
Yes.  When  her  Majesty's  physicians  told  Lord 
Treasurer  that  she  was  ill — [Cries  of  derision]  he  insisted 
that  she  was  well  enough  to  trace  her  signature  on  a  bit 
of  parchment — [applause]  so  he  left  it  there  and  is  to  send 
for  it  within  the  hour. 

Lady  Tattleton  and  Friends. 
Bravo  the  Dean — Viva  Swift — Canterbury. 

Harcourt. 
[Indicating  a  middle-aged  Peer  with  splendid  badge  of 
office  as  he  comes  from  door  of  banquet-room.]     Hist — 
our  host — Lord  Treasurer — . 

Oxford. 
[Coming  down  steps  and  greeting  friends.    In  his  hand 
is  a  small  white  tablet.]     Welcome,  friends,  welcome — . 

Guests. 
[Saluting  him.]     Lord  Treasurer — Oxford — . 

Harcourt. 
[Joining  Oxford  down  front.]     Oxford — is  it  true  that 
the  Dean's  to  get  his  commission  tonight,  here  in  your 
garden  ? 

Oxford. 
Yes.     I  had  almost  to  force  my  way  into  the  Queen's 
bed-chamber — . 

Harcourt. 
Then  you  don't  believe  she's  ill? 

Oxford. 
[Frowningly  reading  tablet.]     Most  certainly  not.  Some 
trick  of  those  damnable  Whigs.     Oh — she'll  sign.     I've 
no  fears  on  that  score. 


DE  AN     SWIFT  95 

Harcourt. 
Thank  heaven,  we  Tories  have  paid  our  debt  to  Swift 
at  last.     So  her  Grace — . 

Oxford. 
After  a  battle  against  the  Dean  for  two  long  years — 
her  Grace  loses  the  game  after  all. 

Harcourt. 
Then — why  your  worried  look,  Lord  Treasurer? 

Oxford. 
Why?      [Striking  the  tablet.]     Look,  you,   Harcourt, 
This  tablet  holds  the  name  of  every  Tory  invited  to  this 
dinner — yet  but  half  of  them  are  here — the  other  half — 
[biting  his  lips.] 

Harcourt. 
The  other  half? 

Oxford. 
[Lewis  comes  down.]      The  other  half   is   ready  to 
follow  my  Secretary  of  State  into  the  other  camp — . 

Harcourt. 
Bolingbroke  to  go  over  to  the  Whigs?     Hah,  sir — I 
can't  believe — . 

Oxford. 
But  I've  proof  of  it — proof  of  it! 

Lewis. 
My    Lord    Treasurer — could    hear    you    clear    to    the 
gate—. 

Oxford. 
Pooh!  since  we're  among  friends — .  And  doesn't  all 
England  know  that  those  damnable  Whigs  have  been  try- 
ing— these  many  months  to  turn  out  the  ministry — se- 
ducing our  friends — actually,  at  this  very  moment  guard- 
ing the  Queen's  bed-chamber — ? 


96  DE  AN     SWIF  T 

Lewis. 
[Startled.]     Guarding  the  Queen's  bed-chamber?    For 
what  reason,  sir? 

Oxford. 
Under  pretence  that  she  is  ill  and  needs  the  ministration 
of  all  her  friends,  no  matter  of  what  camp — .    Ill — though 
but  yesterday  she  gave  audience  to  three  ambassadors. 

Lewis. 
But,  Oxford — Swift's  commission  for  Canterbury — ? 

Oxford. 
It  lies  this  moment  within  the  royal  bed-chamber  all 
but  signed — .     I've  but  to  send  a  messenger  for  it — . 

Lewis. 
Good  news  indeed — . 

Oxford. 
To  balance  the  bad  news  that  Bolingbroke's  been  dicker- 
ing with  the  Whigs — . 

Lewis. 
[Startled.]     Ah—? 

Oxford. 
Yes.    But  where's  the  Dean  ?    Why  is  he  so  late — since 
I  am  giving  this  dinner  in  his  honor? 

Lewis. 
[Laughing.]     He's  probably  keeping  those  "lazy  beg- 
gars" as  he  calls  them,  waiting  his  pleasure. 

Oxford. 
I  wish  he  were  here.     I  feel  more  secure  with  Swift 
at  my  elbow.     [Moving  off  with  Harcourt  and  Lewis.] 


DEAN     SWIFT  97 

[A  commotion  at  gate  as  the  Duchess  enters  alone,  ex- 
travagantly dressed  and  painted.  Laughing  guests  make 
way  for  her  with  sneering  remarks  which  the  Duchess 
ignores  as  she  comes  down  to  curved  seat  where  she  sits, 
calmly  spreading  out  her  splendid  dress  and  waving  her 
fan.] 

Lady  Tattleton. 
[Coming  down  with  escort  to  seat.    Sweetly.]     Why — 
your  Grace — 'mong  Tories? 

Duchess. 
[Gayly.]     Why  not,  little  Tattle — wi'  the  rest  o'  the 
rag-tag  an'  bob-tail  o'  the  Court? 

Lady  Tattleton. 
But — alone?     And  without  your  great  "general,"  the 
Duke?    And  at  whose  invitation  is  your  Grace  here? 

Duchess. 
Begone,  little  Tattle  an'  wash  off  some  of  that  paint — . 

Lady  Tattleton. 

Am  no  more  painted  that  yourself  that's  old  enough 
to  be  my  grandam !     [Moving  off  with  escort.] 

Lady  Nettleton. 

[N earing  Duchess  with  escort.]  Her  Grace  o'  Marl- 
bro !     No — no — I  must  be  mistaken — . 

Duchess. 

Aye — 'twas  only  yesterday  that  I  heard  ye  were  losing 
your  eyesight.  [Low  laughter  of  guests  at  Lady  Nettle- 
ton's  expense.] 


98  BE  AN     SWI F  T 

Lady  Nettleton. 
But  my  eyesight's  good  enough  to  behold  the  ninth  won- 
der o'  the  world — the  bitterest  o'  Whigs — at  a  Tory  din- 
ner— . 

Duchess. 
Aha — the  tenth  wonder — the  report  that  you've  already 
planned  to  elope  wi'  your  youngest  footman — . 

Lady  Nettleton. 
'Tis  a  lie — a  lie — [stamping  her  foot,  tearfully  appeal- 
ing to  friends  who  softly  jeer  at  her.  To  Duchess.] 
Oh — you  wicked  woman !  [Friends  carry  Lady  Nettle- 
ton off.  Again  the  Duchess  calmly  arranges  her  draper- 
ies, ignoring  the  sneers  about  her.] 

Oxford. 
[Coming  down  right  with  Lewis  and  discovering  the 
Duchess.]  Look — Lewis — look,  her  Grace  of  Marlbro — . 

Lewis. 
Gad — so  it  is — .    At  whose  invitation? 

Oxford. 
I'll  ask  her.      [Crossing  to  Duchess,  followed  more 
slowly  by  Lewis.]     Your  Grace — ? 

Duchess. 
[Smiling,  with  the  smallest  of  bows.]     Eh,  Oxford — ? 

Oxford. 
Your  Grace — at  a  Tory  dinner f 

Duchess. 
An'  why  not,  Lord  Treasurer — if  the  cookin'  be  good? 


DE  AN     SWIFT  99 

Oxford. 
Here — at  whose  invitation,  may  I  ask? 

Duchess. 
On  my  own.     Like  the  rest  o'  the  world  I'm  here  to 
see  the  g-r-e-a-t  Dean  get  his  commission—. 

Oxford. 
[Frowning,  coldly  turning  away.]     Humph — . 

Duchess. 
[Rising.]     Ah  well — since  ye  don't  want  an  old  woman 
at  your  dinner-table — [turning  as  if  to  go.] 

Oxford. 
[Coldly.]     The  "old  woman"  is  welcome — [Moving  off 
with  Lewis  to  right.] 

Duchess. 
[Again  insolently  returning  the  glares  of  those  about 
her  as  she  spreads  her  draperies  on  seat.  Bolingbroke 
enters  gate,  comes  down,  saluting  guests  as  friends.  As 
he  nears  the  curved  seat,  the  Duchess  sees  him,  taps  the 
seat  with  her  fan,  with  a  smile.]    Bolingbroke — . 

Bolingbroke. 
[Startled  at  seeing  her,  with  a  hasty  glance  about,  he 
joins  her.]     Your  Grace  here? 

Duchess. 
[Merrily.]     An'  why  shudn't  I  be  here? 

Bolingbroke. 
But — in  Lord  Treasurer's  gardens !    Your  Grace  among 
Tories — / 


100  DEAN     SWIFT 

Duchess. 
Come,  sit  ye  down  here — . 

BOLINGBROKE. 

No — no.     I  must  refuse.     Has  Oxford — . 

Duchess. 
Discovered  me?    Ha  ha — he  has. 

BOLINGBROKE. 

What  said  he  to  you? 

Duchess. 
Mighty  little  when  I  told  him  I'd  come — like  the  rest  o' 
the  world,  to  see  Swift  get  his  commission — . 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Then  he's  not  heard  of  that  affair  of  this  morning — . 

Duchess. 
My  nephew's  love  affair  ?    Pooh !    Let  him  hear.    And 
thanks  for  the  loan  of  your  coach — . 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Had  I  known  that  your  Grace's  reason  for  borrowing 
my  coach  was — [agitated]  to  visit  this  garden — . 

Duchess. 
[Merrily.]     Ye  wouldn't  ha'  loaned  it,  eh? 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Ah — your  Grace  has  ruined  me  with  Oxford — . 

Duchess. 
But  since  ye'e  been  quarrelling  wi'  him  these  many 
months.    But — listen  to  the  real  reason  o'  my  being  here. 
Tis  to  answer  Swift's  challenge  o'  this  mornin' — to  see 
which  of  us  will  win. 


DEAN     SWIFT  101 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Then  I  hope  to  heaven  your  Grace  will  lose. 

Duchess. 
Well,  I'll  take  a  chance.     [Seeing  Oxford  coming  down. 
Merrily.]     Hah — Here's  a  rod  in  pickle  for  ye — . 

Oxford. 
[Sternly.]     Bolingbroke — . 

BOLINGBROKE. 

[Saluting.    Deprecatingly.]    Oxford- Lord  Treasurer — . 

Oxford. 
Mister  Secretary  of  State — this  rendezvous — with  her 
Grace — in  my  garden — At  this  dinner  given  to  Swift — 
'Tis  an  insult  to  the  Dean  as  well. 

Bolingbroke. 
'Tis  not  meant  to  be.    Let  me  explain. 

Oxford. 
This  is  the  second  "favor"  you've  extended  to  her 
Grace  today !    That  place  on  the  Embassy  for  her  rascally 
nephew — . 

Duchess. 
[Merrily.]     Tut,  tut,  Oxford — let  my  relatives  alone — . 

Oxford. 
[Ignoring   Duchess.]      Report   reaches   me   that   you 
visit  Blenhiem — . 

Bolingbroke. 
But  as  a  friend — as  a  friend  only.    Believe  me,  Lord 
Treasurer — . 


102  DE  AN     8WIF  T 

Oxford. 
That  you  hobnob  with  the  Whigs  there — listen  to  of- 
fers to  betray  your  party — . 

BOLINGBROKE. 

[His  hand  on  sword.]     He  who  say  that — LIES ! 

Oxford. 
[His  hand  on  sword.]     This — to  your  superior  in  the 
Ministry — [Both  swords  cross  at  centre.     Guests  gather 
with  cries  of  alarm.     The  Duchess  cackles  merrily  and 
rises  to  see  the  better.] 

Lewis. 
Bolingbroke — [disarming    him,    returning   sword    and 
taking  him  to  rear.] 

Harcourt. 
Lord  Treasurer — [disarming  him.]  Before  your  guests, 
the  ladies — ?     [Returning  sword  and  leading  Oxford  off 
to  right.] 

Duchess. 
[Merrily,  addressing  guests.]  What — must  ye  always 
be  needing  the  "Irish  Parson"  to  keep  the  peace  between 
ye?  Swift — who  makes  laws  for  e'en  the  Queen — for- 
bids paint,  powder  an'  beauty  spots  to  the  Maids  o' 
Honor — By  my  coronet — Swift'll  yet  be  askin'  ye  to  kiss 
his  slipper — . 

[A  commotion  near  gate.  Swift  enters  in  splendid 
court  suit  of  satin,  a  slight  touch  of  powder  on  his  black 
wig.  He  comes  down  between  the  double  lane  of  admiring 
guests.  He  smiles  at  guests,  not  saluting  them.  His  face 
beams,  plainly  showing  he  feels  his  hour  of  triumph  is 
near.] 


DEAN     SWIFT  103 

Duchess. 
[Startled.]      Hah — 'tis    Swift — [Brazenly   seising   the 
arm  of  the  nearest  male  guest  and  making  him  promenade 
with  her  at  right,  within  hearing  of  Swift.] 

Oxford. 
[Meeting  Swift  at  centre  with  extended  hands.]    Wel- 
come   Swift — Welcome,    Archbishop    of     Canterbury — 
[Loud  cries  of  "Swift"  and  "Canterbury."] 

Swift. 
[Shaking   Oxford's    hands,   laughing.]      Canterbury? 
Aha — not  yet,  Oxford — . 

Oxford. 
When  your   commission   lies   at   this   moment   in  the 
Queen's  bed-chamber? 

Swift. 
Nay,   Lord   Treasurer — until   I   hold   it  in  these  two 
hands — . 

Lewis. 
Hail — King  of  Tories — . 

Swift. 
Bah — I'd  rather  be  King  o'  Hades — for  then  my  sub- 
jects'd  be  less  unruly — [Guests  murmur  and  quiet  down.] 
Oxford,  had  I  known  that  I  was  to  serve  as  "a  lion" — 
[With  sudden  disdainful  look  at  guests.] 

Oxford. 
[Laughing.]     Nay,  Swift,  you  see  here  the  flower  of 
England's  nobility. 

Swift. 
Corrupt  politicians  an'  a  licentious  Court — [Guests  mur- 
mur.]    Oxford,  where's  the  bill  o'  your  company — ? 


104  DEAN     SWIFT 

Oxford. 
[Giving  tablet.]     'Tis  here,  Swift. 

Swift. 
[Disdaining  to  read  to  himself.]  Duke  o'  Ormonde? 
He'll  do.  Earl  Peterbro — Harcourt — Shrewsbury — 
Rivers — [mutteringly.]  Prior — [suddenly  striking  the 
tablet.]  Hah— NOTTINGHAM  ! !  When  ye  know,  Ox- 
ford, that  he'd  sell  us  Tories  for  a  bag  o'  ha'pence — 
[Tossing  the  tablet  back  to  Oxford.]  Either  I  dine  wi' 
honest  men  or  not  at  all — . 

Oxford. 
[Beckoning  a  footman  whose  belt  denotes  a  higher  rank 
than  his  fellows.]     Right,  Swift,  and — as  he's  not  yet  ar- 
rived—  [whispering  to  footman,  who  salutes,  exits  quickly 
through  the  gate.]     'Tis  corrected,  Swift — . 

Swift. 
[Mollified.]  Ah — [Beginning  to  view  guests  as  cab- 
bages.] What's  to  amuse  me  here?  Three  dukes — four 
"noble"  earls — thrice  as  many  Lords — [Discovering  the 
Duchess.  Pointing  to  her  merrily.]  Hah,  Oxford — is't 
a  convert  ye  have  there?     [Low  laughter  of  guests.] 

Oxford. 
[To  humiliate  Duchess.]     Pooh — 'tis  just — her  Grace 
of  Marlbro. 

Swift. 
[Peering  at  the  Duchess  under  his  hand.]     Faith — so 
'tis!     Come  to   see   "the  Irish  parson"  get  his  gown? 
[Saluting    her.]     Swift   is   mightily    honored — yes — an' 
pleased ! 

Duchess. 
[Raising  a  clenched  hand.]    Hah,  Swift — . 


DE  AN     SWIF  T  105 

Swift. 
[Abruptly  turning  his  back  on  her.   To  Harcourt  who 
presents  a  richly-dressed  guest.]     Well,  Harcourt? 

Harcourt. 
Swift — this  is  Lord  Comstock — [guest  bows  deeply.] 

Swift. 
[Insolently,    ignoring    guest.]      Bah — Harcourt — have 
too  many  "lords"  on  my  list  already — . 

Oxford. 
[In  lower  tone,  laughingly.]     Gad,  Swift- — Comstock's 
neither  Whig  nor  Tory — . 

Swift. 
Neither — ?  in  times  like  these?     He  must  be  neuter 
gender  then — . 

Oxford. 
Also  a  distant  relative  of  her  Grace's — . 

Swift. 
[Disdaining  to  lower  his  voice.]     Pooh!     What's  her 
Grace's  "relatives"  to  me — or  her  ancestors  either? 

Duchess. 
Thank  God  there  were  no  "parsons"  among  'em! 

Swift. 
[Genially.]     No  such  good  luck,  ma'am. 

Oxford. 
[Laughing.]     Desist,  Swift,  desist. 

Swift. 
[Superbly.]     Pooh!     Why  should  I?     Isn't  this  MY 
dinner,  Oxford? 


106  DEAN     SWIFT 

[The  Duchess  with  a  gesture  of  fury,  suddenly 
dropping  her  escort's  arm,  rushes  up  steps  into  banquet- 
room  to  laughter  of  guests.] 

Oxford. 
To  dinner,  friends — [Guests  begin  to  move  to  rear.] 
Come,  Swift — . 

Swift. 
[Seeing  Molly  with  young  escort  entering  gate.]     In 
a  moment,  Oxford.     [Oxford  leads  guests  to  banquet- 
room  door,  waiting  there  for  Swift.] 

Molly 
[In  extravagant  dress,   comes  to   centre  with   escort. 
With  a  sweeping  bow.]     Hail — Majesty — . 

Swift. 
[Smiling  and  pinching  her  cheek.]     Molly,  ye  witch — 
stop  that  trick  o'  droppin'  to  your  knees — . 

Molly. 
Your  Majesty  looks  splendid  tonight — !     G-r-a-n-d! 
O-O-OH— . 

Swift. 
Another  curts'y  an'  I'll  have  ye  ordered  from  yonder 
gate.    Where's  Esther? 

Molly. 
On  the  road  with  Richard — . 

Swift. 
Ah — The  young  jade's  always  late — [cries  from  ban- 
quet-room of  "Swift."] 


DEAN     SWIFT  107 

Oxford. 

[Coming  down  a  little.]  Swift — your  guests  await 
you — [Swift  motions  to  Molly,  she  hurries  up  steps  with 
escort  into  banquet-room.  Swift  and  Oxford  follow. 
Swift  is  greeted  at  the  door  with  clapping  of  hands,  he 
bows,  enters,  Oxford  follows,  the  door  closes,  voices  con- 
tinuing to  be  heard  from  there. ,] 

[A  slight  pause.  Then  Esther  and  Richard  enter. 
Esther  is  simply  dressed.  About  her  waist  is  a  soft, 
silken  white  sash.  Richard  is  in  military  dress,  white 
cloth  cuffs,  short  sword,  powdered  wig.  Esther  enters 
quickly,  instantly  intent  on  voices  from  right.  Richard 
follows  with  agitated  looks.  He  goes  straight  to  the  curved 
seat  and  throws  himself  on  it  with  covered  eyes.  Esther 
looks  at  him,  goes  up  a  step  or  two,  looks  back  at  Richard, 
frowns  and  comes  down  to  behind  seat.] 

Esther. 
Richard — . 

Richard. 
[Turning  to  her  appealingly.]  Esther — cousin  Esther — . 

Esther. 
Ah — why  cannot  you  be  satisfied  with  a  plain  "no  ?" 

Richard. 
Esther—. 

Esther. 
[Impatiently,  eager  to  get  to  banquet-room.]     I've  told 
you  a  dozen  times,  Richard,  that  I  can  never  marry  you. 
So  ask  me  not  again. 

Richard. 
Esther,  your  refusal  means  exile  to  me ! 


108  DEAN     SWIFT 

Esther. 
[Startled.]      Exile?     You'd    give   up   home — friends, 
country,  and  your  career  in  the  army — . 

Richard. 
All — all,    and    bury    myself    where    dangers    lurk — 
America ! 

Esther. 
Silly  boy — [Renewed  cries  of  "Swift"  "the  Dean"  and 
"Canterbury."      Applause.      Esther    hurries    to    steps 
quickly.] 

Richard. 

[Jumping  up,  follows,  seizing  her  arm.]     Esther — . 

Esther. 
Let  go — how  DARE  you,  Richard — ? 

Richard. 
[Bringing  her  down  and  flinging  her  to  before  him.] 
But  before  I  go  you  shall  answer  me  one  question — . 

Esther. 
I'll  answer  no  question  of  yours,  Richard — . 

Richard. 
Then  I'll  ask  and  answer  the  question  myself.     You 
refuse  me?    Why?    Because  you  love  the  Dean — . 

Esther. 
[Covering  her  ears.]     I'll  not  listen — I'll  not  listen — . 

Richard. 
The  Dean  who's  promised  to  another — . 

Esther. 
Not  listen — . 


DEAN     SWIFT  109 

Richard. 
To  Mistress  Stella  Johnson — who  lives  in  his  house — 
receives  his  friends — . 

Esther. 
'Tis  false — 'tis  false — . 

Richard. 
When   Swift   wins    Canterbury   he'll   marry    Mistress 
Stella—. 

Esther. 

[In  tearful  triumph.]  Whom  he  left  to  return  to  me — 
to  me — . 

Richard. 
OHO— OHO— HA  HA—. 

Esther. 
[Sobbingly.]      Oh — cruel    Richard,    cruel    Richard — 
[Rushing  through  shrubbery  to  left.] 

[Richard  falls  agitatedly  on  rustic  seat,  bites  his  nails, 
weeps  into  his  handkerchief  till  renewed  cries  of 
"SWIFT"  "the  DEAN"  make  him  scowl  toward  banquet- 
room.  Then,  deciding  to  pull  himself  together,  he  mops 
his  eyes  and  throws  back  his  shoulders  boyishly.  A 
scream  comes  from  left.] 

[Springing  up,  his  hand  on  sword.]  Esther's  voice — 
Esther — [running  to  left  and  through  shrubbery.  A 
slight  pause.  Then  Swift  and  Harcourt  come  from  ban- 
quet-room, the  door  closed,  down  to  front.] 

Swift. 
[Frowning.]     Now,  Harcourt — since  you've  spoiled  my 
dinner — . 


110  DE  AN     SWIF  T 

Harcourt. 
[Agitatedly.]     I  tell  you,  Swift,  there's  mischief  brew- 
ing— our  enemies,  the  Whigs — . 

Swift. 
Pho — wi'  the  bitterest  o'  'em  eatin'  Oxford  puddings 
yonder  ? 

Harcourt. 
But  isn't  it  like  her  Grace  to  be  on  hand  when  the  blow 
falls? 

Swift. 

[Startled.]     The  blow — what  blow  d'ye  mean? 

Harcourt. 
This  continued  report  of  the  Queen's  illness — . 

Swift. 
An'  you'd  spoil  my  dinner  because  an  old  woman's  got 
an  ache  in  her  toe  ?    Bah — . 

Harcourt. 
From  my  seat  at  table — next  to  her  Grace,  I  could  dis- 
tinctly hear  her  whisper  to  Comstock  that  her  Majesty's 
lain  in  a  coma  all  afternoon — . 

Swift. 
A  COMA  ?    Hah !  we  must  look  into  that  report.    Go 
you  to  the  palace — insist  on  seeing  the  Queen — be  she  ill 
or  well — [both  hurrying  to  gate]  and  return  here  without 
delay — Your  coach — . 

Harcourt. 
At  the  foot  of  the  hill—. 

Swift. 
Make  haste,  Harcourt,  I'll  await  you  here — . 


DE  AN     SWI  F  T  111 

Harcourt. 
But — your  guests — why  not  join  them — . 

Swift. 

[Pushing  Harcourt  to  gate.]  No — no — I'll  await  you 
here — Hurry — [Harcourt  exits  through  gate  and  off  to 
right,  to  road.  Swift  comes  down  to  seat,  sinks  on  it  as 
if  anticipating  the  worst.]  What  if  this  report  be  true — 
What  if  the  Queen  expires  without  signing  my  commis- 
sion— what  if  Canterbury  is  lost  to  me?  It  would  mean 
that  I'm  to  die  on  Irish  soil — like  a  poisoned  rat  in  a  hole!! 
[A  scream  from  left.  Swift  comes  out  of  his  troubled 
thought  as  Esther  backs  in  at  left  through  shrubbery, 
her  dress  awry,  her  sash  falling  off,  her  looks  agitated  as 
she  stares  to  left.  Swift,  his  woes  forgotten,  hurries  to 
take  her  hand.]  Esther — [Esther  struggles  to  get  away 
as  if  not  recognizing  Swift.]  Esther,  child — 'tis  Swift — 
fear  not — . 

Esther. 

Ah  Swift — [pointing  to  left.]  He  will  kill  my  poor 
cousin — . 

[Clash  of  szvords  and  savage  cries  come  from  left. 
Then,  through  the  shrubbery  Lovelace  backs  in,  his  sword 
crossing  that  of  Richard's.  On  Lovelace's  white  silken 
shirt  is  a  crimson  stain.  Richard  backs  Lovelace  in,  a 
crimson  stain  on  one  white  cuff.  Both  reach  the  centre. 
Esther  falls  agitatedly  onto  curved  seat.] 

Swift. 

[With  raised  hand  walking  between  the  swords.]  Stop — 
Stop.  The  meaning  of  this?  [Lovelace  lowers  his  sword 
and  begins  sullenly  to  dig  its  point  into  the  ground.] 


112  DE  AN     SWIFT 

Richard. 
[Putting   up   his  sword.]      I    found   Mistress   Esther 
struggling  with  two  footmen  in  the  woods  yonder — foot- 
men in  the  Marlbro  livery — . 

Swift. 
[To  Lovelace.]     Ah — ? 

Lovelace. 
'Tis  a  lie — they  were  no  servants  of  mine — . 

Swift. 
[To  Richard.]     And — Her  Graces'  nephew — ? 

Richard. 

Skulking  behind  the  trees — in  safety.  [Esther  goes  to 
Richard  and  begins  to  bind  his  wounded  wrist  with  her 
sash.     Richard  ignores  this.] 

Lovelace. 
'Tis  another  lie — ye  can't  prove  it — I'd  just  arrived 
there — [The  Indian  servant  comes  through  the  shrubbery 
with  Lovelace's  jacket  and  offers  to  put  it  on.  Loveeace 
snatches  it  and  flings  it  across  his  shoulder.  The  Indian 
stands  stolidly  beyond  with  folded  arms.] 

Swift. 

A  lie,  was  it?  With  her  Grace's  footman  to  prove  it 
truth?  So — 'tis  not  only  a  kidnaper  but  a  LIAR  as 
well — [nearing  Lovelace]  and  as  neither  is  worthy  to 
wear  a  sword — [snatching  the  sword  from  Lovelace's 
hand,  bending  it  across  his  knee,  breaking  it,  tossing  the 
pieces  aside.] 

Lovelace. 

Hah — my  aunt  shall  hear  of  this — [turning  and  going 
to  right.] 


DEAN     SWIFT  113 

Swift. 
My  compliments  to  her — and — ha  ha — show  her  that 
wound  in  your  back.  [The  belted  footman  of  Oxford 
enters  gate.  He  presents  a  letter  to  Swift  who  takes  it 
quickly,  tearing  it  open.  Lovelace  rushes  up  the  steps 
into  banquet-room,  closing  the  door.  The  Indian  turns  to 
left  shrubbery.  Swift  points  to  him,  speaking  to  the 
belted  footman.]  Send  yonder  footman  from  these  gar- 
dens. [Reading  the  letter  without  interest.  The  belted 
footman  gestures  to  the  Indian,  who  turns,  moves  to  gate 
without  haste,  then  exits  to  right.  The  footman  runs  up  the 
steps,  whips  off  his  belt  and  bends  over  the  grillwork  as  if 
lashing  the  Indian  an  instant,  then  enters  the  banquet- 
room — a  rapid  pantomime.  The  letter  hastily  finished, 
Swift  thrusts  it  into  his  bosom.]  As  for  you,  Richard — 
see  to  your  wound. 

Richard. 
Tis  a  mere  scratch,  sir.     [To  Esther,  snatching  away 
his  bandaged  hand.]     Farewell,  Esther — I  sail  tonight — 
[Hurrying  through  the  gate.] 

Esther. 
[Sinking  agitatedly  on  curved  seat.]     Ah — poor  Rich- 
ard— . 

Swift. 
He  sails  tonight?    For  what  port,  Esther? 

Esther. 
For — for  America. 

Swift. 
[Mistaking  her  agitation  as  he  moves  to   behind  the 
curved    seat.]       Esther — Richard's    a    fine    fellow — the 
makings  of  a  splendid  man — He  truly  loves  you,  I'm  sure. 


114  DEAN     SWIFT 

Esther. 
[With   rising   bosom.]      Ah — cannot   you   understand 
that—. 

Swift. 
But,   since  a   woman   must   marry — why   not   take   a 
master  whose  faults  are  known  to  her? 

Esther. 
Marry — Richard  ?    No — No — . 

Swift. 
[More  lightly.]     Ah — 'tis  because  you  love  another? 

Esther. 
Yes — yes — . 

Swift. 
Some  Court  dandy — beruffed  and  bef rilled? 

Esther. 
[Suddenly  rising  and  facing  him,  her  words  a  torrent.] 
Ah — you  shall  know  all  now — though  you  might  have 
guessed  it  long  ago — [with   extended  arms  and   trans- 
figured looks.]     Swift—  SWIFT— . 

Swift. 
[Recoiling.]     ESTHER—. 

Esther. 
[Sobbingly.]     Ah  Swift — I  was  nothing  till  you  taught 
me  how  to  think — to  love  what  you  loved — to  despise 
what  you  despised — . 

Swift. 
[Coming  from  behind  seat.]     Esther — as  there's  a  God 
in  heaven  I  never  dreamed  of  this — . 


DEAN     SWIFT  115 

Esther. 
You  have  made   me  what  I   am  and   I   am  yours — 
[about  to  throw  herself  on  his  breast.] 

Swift. 
[Taking  her  hands  instead.]     My  child — [Falling  on 
seat  with  covered  eyes.] 

Esther. 
[Dropping  at  his  knee.]     You  are  my  all — on  earth — in 
heaven — [Her  head  upon  his  knee.] 

Swift. 
[Brokenly,  looking  down  on  her.]  Child — 'Tis 
blasphemy!  [Struggling  for  self-control  while  he  gently 
touches  her  hair.]  Esther — [Lifting  her  face.]  Listen. 
You  shall  know  me  as  I  am — a  miserable  wretch — hawk- 
ing his  few  talents  about  the  earth — grovelling  before 
yonder  Tory  lords  for  the  pittance  they've  promised  me — 
a  bishop's  gown — [agitated,  silent  a  moment.] 

Esther. 
Ah   Swift — [looking  up  and  laying  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder.] 

Swift. 
[Preventing  this.     With  anguish.]     Listen,  child.     For 
years  I've  been  like  a  blasted  tree — . 

Esther. 
[Startled,  pityingly.]     Swift — . 

Swift. 
For  what  the  world  calls  genius  has  oft  been  near  to 
madness — and  there  have  been  hours  when  I  have  been 
mad — when  it  would  have  been  better  to  flee  away — . 


116  DEAN     SWIFT 

Esther. 
Then  take  me  with  you — and  were  this  madness  to  over- 
take you — Ah — let  me  be  your  slave  till  then — your  will- 
ing slave — . 

Swift. 
[Mournfully.]      And   is   this   the   reward   of    all   my 
teachings  ? 

Esther. 
I  love  you — I  love  you! 

Swift. 
[Taking  her  hand.]  This  hand — so  white — these  lips 
so  eloquent  o'  promises  were  I  so  base  as  to  accept  the 
sacrifice — [Rising  and  lifting  her  to  her  feet.  In  lighter 
tones.]  Nay,  child — keep  thy  sweet  self  for  a  worthier 
than  I—. 

[Confused  sounds  come  from  banquet-room  door. 
Laughter,  the  Duchess'  angry  tones.  Swift  puts  Esther 
behind  him,  his  eyes  to  right.  Molly  rushes  through 
banquet-room  down  to  Esther.] 

Molly. 
[With  tears,   clasping  her  sister.]      Esther — my  poor 
Esther — . 

Swift. 
[Eyeing  the  banquet-room  door  as  he  pushes  the  girls 
to  gate.]     Go — Go — Esther — Molly — my  coach  at  foot  of 
the  lane — Patrick'll  see  ye  safely  home — . 

Molly. 
[Half-dragging   Esther   to   gate.]      Come — Esther — 
come — . 

Esther. 
[With  appealing  arms  to  Swift.]     Swift — Swift — . 


DEAN     SWIFT  117 

Swift. 
[Watching  door  intently  as  he  waves  the  girls  to  go.] 
Go — Go — I'll  see  ye  tomorrow — [Molly  carries  Esther 
through  gate  and  off  to  right.     Swift,  at  centre,  awaits 
affairs  with  tranquil  look.] 

Duchess. 
[Coming  from  banquet-room  with  look  of  fury.  Guests 
follow  her  on  with  suppressed  laughter,  gaily  anticipating 
her  defeat  at  the  hands  of  Swift.  Lovelace  is  in  the 
crowd,  being  jostled  and  teased  by  the  others,  his  jacket 
now  on.  Coming  down.]  A  liar,  is  he?  An'  the  sword 
of  a  British  noble's  to  be  broken  like  a  common  flail  ? 

Oxford. 
[Coming  down  from  door  quickly.     Sternly.]     Your 
Grace — this  uproar — in  my  garden  ? 

Duchess. 
But,  Oxford,  the  Dean's  to  blame.    My  nephew,  pacin' 
the  woods  yonder — . 

Swift. 
[Merrily.]     Gazin'  at  the  moon — . 

Duchess. 
Was  set  on  by  a  rascally  friend  o'  the  Dean's — . 

Swift. 
Who  wounded  him — in  the  back!  [Laughter  of  guests.] 

Oxford. 
If  your  Grace  will  take  your  departure — . 

Duchess. 
[Throwing  herself  on  curved  seat.]     But  how  can  I, 
Lord  Treasurer,  when  I  have  no  coach? 


118  DEAN     SWIFT 

Swift. 
[Pointing  meaningly  to  left.]     You'll  find  your  coach — 
there ! 

Duchess. 
Pooh!     My  nephew's  love-affairs  are  no  concern  o' 
mine. 

Swift. 
Hah — convicted!    Then  get  ye  to  Blenhiem  afoot ! 

Duchess. 
How  dare  ye,  Swift — How  dare  ye — ?    [Mopping  her 
eyes.] 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Swift — Lord  Treasurer — [Deprecatingly.]     Her  Grace 
came  here  in  my  coach. 

Oxford. 
In  your  coach?    Hah — . 

Swift. 
[Laughingly.]     Oxford,  we  Tories  need  a  new  Secre- 
tary.     [Oxford  crosses  to   Bolingbroke,   removes  the 
badge  from  his  breast  and  turns  to  Swift.] 

Swift. 
To  Lewis — Yes.     [Bolingbroke  falls  on  curved  seat 
with  covered  eyes.    Oxford  meets  Lewis  at  centre,  places 
the  badge  on  his  breast.] 

Guests. 
Lewis  —  Lewis  —  Secretary    of     State — [clap    hands, 
Lewis  bows.] 

Oxford. 
Lewis,  your  first  official  duty — to  the  palace  and  bring 
back  to  us  Swift's  commission.     [Swift  is  surrounded, 
applauded.     He  smiles  as  if  sure  now  of  victory.     Ox- 


BE  AN     SWIF  T  119 

ford  beckons  the  belted  footman,  speaks  to  him.  The 
footman  detaches  the  left  flambeaux,  goes  to  gate.  Lewis 
follows  quickly,  both  heads  seen  as  they  go  along  the  road 
below  the  grillwork.  The  Duchess  sits  on  the  curved 
seat,  a  little  space  away  from  Bolingbroke,  her  back  to 
him.]  Come,  Swift,  come,  friends,  back  to  table.  [Swift 
and  Oxford  go  up  steps  and  enter  banquet-room.  Guests 
follow  with  backward  looks  at  the  Duchess  which  she 
tries  to  ignore.    Door  closed.] 

Lovelace. 
Come,  Aunt — [Going  to  her.] 

Duchess. 
[Striking  him  with  her  fan,  tearfully.]     Be  silent,  ye 
young  fool.    See  where  your  "love-affairs"  ha'  landed  me. 
Beaten — Beaten — Sarah  o'  Marlbro — Beaten  by  an  Irish 
parson !    Oh — Oh — . 

Bolingbroke. 
[Mopping  his  eyes.]     Disgraced — ruined! 

Duchess. 
Looke,  Bolingbroke — since  the  Tories  have  kicked  ye 
out,  why  not  come  wi'  us  Whigs  ? 

Bolingbroke. 
Leave  my  party  ?    Never ! 

Duchess. 
But  ye  well  know  that — [in  lower  tone]  if  the  Queen's 
illness  is  mortal  the  Tory  Ministry  falls.    If  ye'll  come  in 
wi'  us  now,  I'll  help  make  ye  Premier — . 

Bolingbroke. 
[Rising  and  mopping  his  eyes.]     Even  at  that  price — . 


120  DEAN     SWIFT 

Duchess. 
What — ye  refuse  a  Premiership? 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Yes — even  at  that  price.     [Saluting.]     Goodnight,  your 
Grace. 

Duchess. 
[Crossly.]    Goodnight  an'  ye  can  take  your  coach  wi'  ye. 

BOLINGBROKE. 

But — your  Grace — . 

Duchess. 
Yes.     Ye  mean  that  as  Swift  has  ordered  me  out  o' 
these  gardens — [Throwing  herself  on  curved  seat.]     But 
here  I  stay  a  bit  longer,  just  the  same. 

BOLINGBROKE. 

If  you  think  to  outwit  the  Dean  even  now — ? 

Duchess. 
Aye — even   if   his   commission   lies   in   her    Majesty's 
chamber.    Which  does  not  prove  that  she  has  signed  it. 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Ah — thank  heaven,  I  can  assure  you  that  she  has. 

Duchess. 
WHAT ! !    When  all  afternoon  she  has  lain  helpless  ! ! 
I'll  not  believe  it! 

BOLINGBROKE. 

But,  this  morning  I  saw  it  signed  and  sealed. 

Duchess. 
[Collapsing.]     So  Swift  wins  after  all! 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Yes.    Goodnight,  your  Grace — [Exit  at  gate.] 


DEAN     SWIFT  121 

Lovelace. 

[Coming  from  left.]  Aunt,  maybe  you'll  come  home 
with  me  now. 

Duchess. 

[Fiercely  waving  him  away.]  No — no — no — Not  even 
now! 

Lovelace. 

Then  you'll  remain  here,  like  a  sick  cat  on  a  doorstep? 
Be  sensible,  Aunt — Come  away. 

Duchess. 

Aha — not  while  there's  one  chance  in  a  million  left. 
I'll  sit  me  here  an'  wait  for  that  chance.  So  ye  may  run 
along. 

Lovelace. 

But  since  you  can't  get  home  afoot,  I'll  wait  for  you  in 
the  woods  yonder — [Exit  again  through  left  shrubbery.] 

[The  Duchess  walks  agitatedly  about  a  moment.  Then, 
looking  to  right,  she  notes  the  head  of  the  belted  footman 
above  the  grillwork  as  he  makes  his  way  to  gate.  She 
retreats  to  behind  shrubbery  at  foot  of  the  right  pedestal. 
The  following  in  rapid  pantomime :  The  footman  enters 
gate,  in  his  hand  a  roll  of  parchment  with  flaring  red  seal 
and  ribbons.  At  his  heels  follows  the  Indian,  dagger  in 
hand.  The  footman,  unaware  of  this,  runs  up  the  steps. 
The  mute  follows,  stabs  him,  tears  off  the  footman's  belt 
and  trusses  the  body.  The  parchment  rolls  down  the  steps. 
The  Duchess  rushes  out,  seizes  it  and  swiftly  tears  the 
seal,  reading  it  eagerly.  The  mute  tosses  the  body  over  the 
grillwork  to  road.  Then,  seeing  his  mistress  and  fearing 
punishment,  he  runs  down,  kneels  beside  her.  A  wave  of 
her  hand  assures  him,  he  takes  his  place  stolidly  beyond 
her.] 


122  BE  AN     SWIF  T 

Duchess. 

[In  triumph.]  'Tis  Swift's  commission!  His  commis- 
sion for  Canterbury ! !  [Making  as  if  to  destroy  it.  Then, 
laughing.]  Not  yet — not  yet — Ah — [Seeing  Harcourt 
as  he  hurries  along  road  beyond  grillwork  to  gate,  the 
Duchess  again  retreats,  this  time  behind  left  pedestal, 
motioning  the  mute  to  follow.] 

Harcourt. 

[Entering  gate  with  agitation.  Looking  round  for 
Swift.  Then  running  to  right.]  The  Queen — The 
Queen — [running  up  steps  and  into  the  banquet-room.  A 
moment  later  cries  of  "The  Queen"  and  upoor  lady," 
from  the  banquet-room  door.  The  guests  stream  on  and 
down  the  steps,  agitated,  tearful,  Oxford  leading.  A 
moment  later  Swift  enters,  coming  calmly  down,  self- 
controlled  but  prepared  for  the  worst.] 

Oxford. 

[Agitatedly,  dismayed.]  Swift — you've  heard  Har- 
court's  report — of  her  Majesty's  probably  fatal  illness? 

Swift. 

Yes,  I've  heard.  What  about  my  commission,  Lord 
Treasurer  ? 

Oxford. 

Heaven  grant  it  has  been  signed — [Guests  point  to 
Lewis,  seen  beyond  the  grillwork  as  he  hurries  tozuard 
gate.] 

Lewis. 

[Entering  gate  with  agitation.]  Swift — Oxford — 
You've  heard?  [falling  on  curved  seat  with  covered  eyes.] 


de  an    swif  t  123 

Swift. 
[With  low  laugh.]     Aye,   Lewis — we've  heard.     But 
let's  leave  the  poor  lady  to  Him  that  made  her.     For  a 
smaller  matter  concerns  us  now.     My  commission — . 

Lewis. 
Which  I  sent,  signed  and  sealed,  ten  minutes  ago  by 
Oxford's  footman — . 

Swift. 
Which — aha — has  not  yet  arrived? 

Lewis. 
Wait.     As  I   raced  the  road  yonder  my   foot  struck 
something — . 

Guests. 
[Peering   down   over  grillwork.]      The   footman — the 
footman — . 

Swift. 
[Accepting  fate  calmly.]     Humph — ha  ha — . 

Oxford. 
By  heaven,  if  the  Queen  live  but  another  hour  she 
shall — [moving  to  gate.] 

Lewis. 

But,  Oxford — the  Queen  is  dead.     [Renewed  cries  of 

sorrow  from  guests.]     Ah,  Swift,  the  footman  must  have 

been  waylaid — [The  Duchess  steps  boldly  into  view,  but 

NOT  the  Indian.    The  commission  is  NOT  in  her  hand.] 

Swift. 
[Meaningly,  looking  at  the  Duchess  with  a  half-smile.] 
And  dead  men  tell  no  tales,  eh? 


124  DEAN     SWIFT 

Duchess. 

[Merrily.]  Ha-ha — sir  Dean,  ye'll  be  for  havin'  me 
drawn  an'  quartered  yet — [Swift  ignores  her.  Loud 
cries  come  from  road.  A  mob,  carrying  banners  and 
torches,  comes  from  right  and  past  gate.  Stones  begin 
to  fall  into  the  garden,  catcalls,  hisses  and  "Down  with 
the  Tories/'  Oxford,  Lewis  and  Harcourt  go  among 
guests  to  calm  them.  Two  footmen  rush  on  and  fasten 
gate,  remain  there.  The  Duchess  rushes  up  steps  to  grill- 
work,  tears  off  her  mantle  and  waves  it  to  those  below. 
Cries  of  "Marlbro — Marlbro" — come  from  mob.  Swift 
stands  smilingly  down  front  listening  to  the  cries.  Sud- 
denly the  Duchess  rushes  down,  beckons  to  the  Indian 
who  leaves  the  left  pedestal  and  joins  her.  Following  her 
gestures,  he  snatches  the  parchment  from  his  sash,  puts  it 
between  his  teeth,  climbs  the  right  pedestal,  and  tosses  the 
parchment  into  the  flambeau,  where  it  begins  to  blaze. 
He  slips  down  again  to  stand  stolidly  at  right  with  folded 
arms.  ] 

Lewis. 

[Seeing  this  too  late,  rushes  to  Swift  and  points  to  the 
blazing  parchment.]     Swift — your  commission — . 

Swift. 
[Barely  glancing  at  it  over  his  shoulder.]    Aye,  Lewis — 
aye — [With  a  shrug.] 

Duchess. 
[Coming  to  Swift  and  indicating  the  mob.    Genially.] 
D'ye  hear  'em,  Swift? 

Swift. 
[As  genially.]     Your  Grace's  relatives,  eh? 

Duchess. 
An'  lightin'  the  g-r-e-a-t  Dean — to  oblivion! 


DEAN     SWIFT  125 

Swift. 

Mighty  civil  of  'em,  ma'am.  [With  a  gesture  toward 
burning  parchment,  his  voice  growing  stern,  his  look  such 
that  the  Duchess  recoils.}  But  yonder  smaller  fire — . 
If  the  Dean  say  the  word — THE  LAW — to  which  even  a 
Duchess  must  bow — the  law  will  consign  a  certain  impu- 
dent female  to  the  Tower — for  life!  [The  Duchess  re- 
treats to  right  as  if  in  fear  as  a  loud  knocking  begins  at 
gate.  The  mob  has  passed  off.  Oxford  motions  to  a 
footman  at  gate.     The  footman  unbars  it.] 

Ford. 

[Entering  quickly  and  looking  eagerly  round.  Loudly.] 
The  Dean — I  demand  to  see  the  Dean — . 

Swift. 
[Meeting  Ford  at  centre.     Quickly.]      Ford — here — 
in  London? 

Ford. 

This  instant  arrived — [seizing  Swift's  arm]  Mistress 
Stella—. 

Swift. 
[Recoiling.]       Stella — Quick    Ford,    out    with    your 
news — .     Stella  is — . 

Ford. 
Ill— ill  unto  death—. 

Swift. 
Unto  Death — ?     Come — Ford — come — [both  hurrying 
to  gate.] 

Oxford. 

[In  dismay.]  Swift — you  are  leaving  us  at  such  a 
time? 


126  DEAN     SWIFT 

Swift. 

[Near  gate.  Over  his  shoulder.]  Aye,  Oxford — and 
this  time — forever.  Come,  Ford,  to  Dublin  and  to 
Stella—. 

[Swift  and  Ford  leaving  gate.  Deep  boom  of  cannon. 
Oxford  and  his  Ministry  despairing  at  curved  seat.  Guests 
continue  to  murmur.  Two  footmen  go  about  extinguish- 
ing the  lanterns,  the  moon  rises  on  distant  sky.] 

End  of  the  Third  Act. 


ACT  FOURTH.    SCENE  FIRST. 

Sitting-room  of  the  Deanery,  Dublin,  Two  Months 
Later.  Morning  in  October.  The  room  has  lost  some 
of  its  attractiveness.  The  chairs  are  set  primly  against 
rear  wall.  The  wire  stand  of  plants  and  the  green 
boughs  in  the  chimney-place  are  no  longer  there.  The 
round  table  is  piled  high  with  newspapers.  Swift's 
chair  is  now  to  right  of  table,  facing  directly  left.  On 
the  right  wall  hangs  an  English  flag,  large  letter 
T  on  its  centre. 

Dingley  stands  at  table  with  a  sour  look,  trying  to  bring 
order  out  of  chaos,  pausing  now  and  then  to  read  a 
printed  newspaper  heading  with  a  sneer.  Patrick 
stands  behind  her,  feather  duster  in  hand,  prepared  to 
flick  furniture,  but  slyly  listening  to  Dingley  and  re- 
pressing enthusiasm. 

Dingley. 
[Reading.]     "  'Gainst  Evictions."    Humph — and  a  very 
good  way  to  be  rid  o'  a  bad  tenant — to  chase  him  into  the 
open — "Right  to  Manufacture — ." 

Patrick. 
Huru-ur.    [Refraining  to  cheer.] 

Dingley. 
When  from  England  they  can  buy  all  they  need  an' 
better  than  they  cud  ever  make  it — As  for  this  Copper 
Coinage — the  Dean  won  the  victory  for  them  there — bad 
luck  to't— -. 


128  DEAN     SWIFT 

Patrick. 
Huzz-a — . 

DlNGLEY. 

And  here's  a  demand  for  "Liberty."  Faith — if  they 
had  it  they'd  not  know  what  to  do  wi'  it — Liberty  for- 
sooth— . 

Patrick. 

Huzzaha-a-a — . 

DlNGLEY. 

[Wheeling  on  him  and  facing  him  off  to  right.]  What 
are  ye  doing  here,  ye  lazy  clout — pi'zinin'  the  air  wi'  your 
bawlin' — Be  off — be  off  to  your  pantry — . 

Patrick. 
Yis'm — yis'm — [exits  door  3.] 

DlNGLEY. 

[Returning  to  table.]  Sure — sin'  the  Dean's  returned 
the  whole  island's  gone  mad  on  "Liberty." 

Ford. 
[Entering    door    1    smiling,   bouquet  in  hand    behind 
him.]      Morning,     Mistress     Dingley — [Slyly      placing 
bouquet  on  mantel-shelf.] 

DlNGLEY. 

[Half -sullenly.]     Morning,  Mister  Ford — . 

Ford. 
Still  helping  the  Dean  with  his  newspapers? 

DlNGLEY. 

Aye — and  a  weary  task  it's  been  these  two  months. 
It  wasn't  eno'  that  Swift  meddled  with  the  business  o' 
Queen  Anne  but  he  must  be  directin'  the  affairs  o'  her 
successor,   the  new   King — . 


DEAN     SWIFT  129 

Ford. 
Bravo  the  Dean!     [Coming  to  help  at  table.] 

Dingley. 
Sure,  Swift,  these  two  months  has  set  fire  to  every  soul 
on  Irish  sod — From  the  beggars  to  the  nobility — makin' 
'em  think  what  he  thinks  an'  makin'  'em  see  what  he 
wants  'em  to  see — !  Faith,  his  name  is  on  every  lip  an' 
they  say  his  picture's  on  every  wall — . 

Ford. 
Bravo,  the  Dean — . 

Dingley. 
Tis  said  that  already  there's  a  price  on  the  head  o'  the 
writer  o'  those  Drapier  letters,  which  [looking  round,  in 
lozver  tones]  the  whole  of  Ireland  knows  is  Swift — . 

Ford. 
And  not  a  soul  of  them'll  take  the  reward  that  is  of- 
fered— . 

Dingley. 
Aye — an'  though  his  Oxfords  and  his  Bolingbrokes  are 
swept  away — [pointing  to  the  flag]  look  there — . 

Ford. 
Viva  Swift — still  King  of  Tories! 

Dingley. 
[Jealously.]     Ay — ye  never  saw  fault  in  the  Dean — . 

Ford. 
Nor  ever  will,  Mistress  Dingley.     Where's  the  Dean 
this  morning? 

Dingley. 
In  garden  wi'  Mistress  Stella. 


130  DEAN     SWIF7 

Ford. 
Ah — good  news  indeed! 

Dingley. 
Ah — he's  mighty  tender  to  her  now — . 

Ford. 
[Laughing.]      Now,  now,   Mistress  Dingley — . 

Dingley. 
[Snorting.]      Humph!      [After  a  moment,   in   lower 
tone.]     D'ye  think  that  Swift's  done  wi' — that  other? 

Ford. 
[Purposely  dense.]     What  other? 

Dingley. 
Why — his  Lunnun  charmer — Mistress  Esther — . 

Ford. 
Sh-h —  [  warningly .  ] 

Dingley. 
[Snorting.]     Humph.     [After  a  moment.]     But — d'ye 
think  he's  done  wi'  her? 

Ford. 
Yes — yes.    Quite  done  with  her.    I'm  sure  of  it — . 

Dingley. 
[Snatching  a  package  of  letters  from  drawer  to  table.] 
Well — he's    NOT    done   wi'    her — See — Letters    arrivin' 
every  week — arrivin'  whilst  my  poor  Stella  lay  on  her  bed 
almost  dying — [beginning  to  mop  her  eyes.] 

Ford. 
[Peering  at  but  not  touching  letters.    In  triumph.]  But 
ma'am,  they  are  unopened! 


DE  AN     SWIF  T  131 

DlNGLEY. 

[Making  sure  of  it.  With  regret.]  Aye,  so  they  are! 
But — what's  to  prevent  the  Dean  answerin'  'em  later — ? 

Ford. 

[Displeased  look,  moving  from  table.]  Mistress  Ding- 
ley — . 

DlNGLEY. 

[Half-weeping.]  Ah,  Mister  Charles— 'tis  NOT  that 
I  hate  the  Dean — no — no — 'tis  not  that  at  all.  Tis  that 
he's  been  so  blind  to  the  love  my  poor  lamb  has  had  for 
him — so  blind  these  many  years — the  Dean — that's 
crossed  the  channel  but  two  months  ago — . 

Ford. 
To  aid  his  Tory  friends — . 

DlNGLEY. 

[Passionately.]  To  his  Lunnun  charmer's  arms — to 
her  arms!  Hasn't  Mistress  White's  letters  told  on  him — 
How  he  was  spending  his  free  hours  from  court  to  tach 
a  lovely  girl  how  to  speak  Latin,  Greek  and,  'tis  reported — 
love?  Ah — 'tis  no  wonder  that — that  I  hate  him!  [Re- 
placing letters  in  drawer.  Seeing  the  bouquet,  crossing 
and  bringing  it  to  right.]  A  love  that  even  yourself 'd  be 
proud  to  win — . 

Ford. 

[Bowing  with  hand  on  heart.]  Thanks,  [Dingley  goes 
to  door  3.]     But  wait — . 

Dingley. 

[Purposely  dense,  going.]  These  shall  adorn  the  dear 
girl's  own  chamber — . 


132  DEAN     SWIFT 

Ford. 
Mistress  Dingley — Those  letters — Mistress  Stella  must 
not  know  of  those  letters — . 

Dingley. 
An'  why  not?    Twould  sarve  the  Dean  right  to  expose 
him — . 

Ford. 
What — would  you  lose  him  Stella? 

Dingley. 
Aye — an'  would  carry  her  off — to  England!      [Exits 
door  3.] 

Ford. 
[Staring   after   her.]      To    England!!      [In    troubled 
thought  a  moment.) 

Delany. 

[Entering  quickly  door  1,  radiant  looks,  sprig  of  green 
in  coat.]     Morning,  Ford. 

Ford. 
Ah,  Delaney — In  gala  attire? 

Delany. 

Which  all  Dublin'll  wear  this  day — Swift's  birthday! 
Did  ye  notice  the  crowds  round  his  Cathedral  door — the 
flags  on  every  house?  Faith,  St.  Patrick's  will  not  be 
half  big  enough  to  hold  his  admirers  at  service.  Where 
is  the  Dean — where? 

Ford. 
In  garden  with  Mistress  Stella — 

Delany. 
[Turning  to  go.]     In  garden,  eh? 


DE  AN     SWIFT  133 

Ford. 
[Laughing    and    intercepting    him.]       What — man — 
would  you  intrude? 

Delany. 
An'  why  not,  Ford? 

Ford. 
[Meaningly.]     But  Swift — and  Mistress  Stella! 

Delany. 
Ah-h — !  But,  looke,  Ford,  today's  NO  day  for  the 
Dean  to  be  me-anderin'  about  wi'  a  petticoat — [pose  of 
orator.]  Wi'  his  country  prostrate  under  the  fut  av  her 
oppressors  [Ford  reads  a  newspaper  with  patient  smile] 
wi'  a  tax  on  aven  the  leather  o'  her  bare-futted  peasantry — 
[noting  Ford's  lack  of  attention.  Hoarsely,  confiden- 
tially]  Hist — Ford — a  surprise  for  the  Dean — . 

Ford. 
A  surprise? 

Delany. 
A  surprise — and — a  halo — a  h-a-1-o-o — . 

Ford. 
A  halo? 

Delany. 
Wait   an'    see — [hurrying   left]    wait   an'    see — [exits 
door  1.] 

[After  a  moment  Patrick  comes  from  door  2  followed 
by  a  choir-boy  carefully  bearing  Swift's  lustrous,  black 
silken  gown.] 

Ford. 
Ah,  Patrick — the  Dean's  best  gown  and  'tis  NOT  Sun- 
day? 

Patrick. 
'Tis  for  Thanksgivin'  Sarvice,  sor — . 


134  de  an    swif  t 

Ford. 
Oh — and  the  Dean  must  look  his  best  today? 

Patrick. 
Aye,  Masther  Ford — . 

Ford. 
Has  Archbishop  arrived  yet? 

Patrick. 

Not  yet,  sor — [playfully  cuffing  choir-boy's  ear  and 
pushing  him  to  right.]  Be  off,  now — an'  kape  the  Dean's 
best  gown  fro'  thrailin' — [Exit  boy  door  3.  Patrick  to 
door  2.] 

[Swift  enters  door  1  half -bearing  Stella.  She  is  pale, 
but  smiling,  in  simple  gray  dress,  in  her  hand  a  bunch  of 
tulips.  Swift's  face  is  also  radiant.  Ford  comes  down 
quickly,  but  Swift  slightly  edges  him  aside,  jealously,  as 
he  brings  Stella  to  settee,  placing  her  there  with  little 
cries  of  affection,  touches  for  her  comfort.  ]  See,  Ford, 
the  color  in  her  cheek,  the  sparkle  in  her  eyes — .  'Tis 
the  first  time  in  garden  in  three  long  months.  Ah,  child — 
art  given  back  to  us — for  which  thanks  be  to  Almighty 
God—. 

Stella. 
[Offering  her  hand.]     Charles — . 

Ford. 
[With  emotion,  kissing  her  hand.]     Mistress  Stella — . 

Stella. 

And  see — the  last  o'  the  Dean's  tulips — though  he  for- 
gives me  for  wanting  them — . 


DEAN     SWIFT  135 

Ford. 
[Retaining  the  hand  but  looking  at  Stella.]      How 
lovely — but  how  frail — . 

Swift. 
[Half -bant eringly,    edging    Ford    aside    again.]      Is't 
Mistress  Stella  or  the  tulips  you  mean — ? 

Ford. 

[Stepping  back  confused.]     Ah,  Swift — . 

Stella. 
[Playfully,  to  Swift.]     Mister  Dean — . 

Swift. 
Forgive  me,  child.     Now,  thy  medicine — [hurrying  to 
door  2.     Half -bant  eringly.]     And  looke,  Ford — no  more 
flatteries — [exit  door  2.] 

Stella. 
Charles — you've  been   so  kind — so  kind  these   weary 
months — . 

Ford. 
And  am  repaid — since  the  Deanery  has  gotten  back  its 
mistress — [Taking  her  hand,  earnest,  lower  tone.]     And 
the  Dean — ah,  Mistress  Stella — be  kind  to  him. 

Stella. 
[Understanding,  averting  her  face.]     Have  I  not  al- 
ways been  "kind"  to  Swift? 

Ford. 

Be  more  than  kind — be  generous! 

Stella. 

[Sweetly.     Giving  her  hand.]     Ah,  Charles — 'twill  be 
an  easy  task. 


136  DEAN     SWIFT 

Ford. 
[Kissing  her  hand.]     Then  I  am  content.     [From  be- 
yond door  1,  rises  a  rollicking  melody  from  a  band.  Cries 
of  "The  Dane" — and  "Copper  Coinage'' — "Right  to  manu- 
facture"—"Liberty"— "The  D-A-N-E-"  ] 

Swift. 
[Coming  from  door  2,  a  small  glass  of  medicine  in  hand. 
Frowning.]     That  uproar — when  my  orders  were  that — 
during  Mistress  Stella's  illness — . 

Ford. 

[Laughing.]  But — since  half  Dublin's  seen  you  both 
walking  in  the  garden — [Swift  gives  Stella  the  glass, 
she  drinks,  returns  glass  to  Ford  who  places  it  beyond.] 

[Rollicking  melody  now  just  beyond  door.  Delany, 
followed  by  a  dozen  citizens  with  sprigs  of  green  in  coats, 
enters.  Without  saluting  the  others,  Delany  intently 
places  his  friends  in  a  straight  line  along  rear  wall. 
Swift  throws  himself  into  his  chair  to  endure.  Through 
the  open  door  is  seen  the  green-coated  band  playing  away, 
beyond  them  a  cheering  crowd  of  men.  His  task  finished, 
Delany  motions  to  left,  the  music  and  cheers  fade  off. 
Ford  stands  behind  Stella  and  both  watch  the  scene  with 
happy  interest.] 

Delany. 

[Coming  to  stand  before  Swift  in  pose  of  orator.] 
Mister  Dean — . 

Stella. 
[Grimly.]     Now,  Delany — get  it  off  your  mind. 

Delany. 
Congratulations,  sor — Your  birthday — . 

Swift. 
Pooh— What  of  it? 


DE  AN     SWIF  T  137 

Delany. 

Which  Erin's  to  number — hereafter,  in  her  annual  fes- 
tivals— . 

Swift. 

No — no — I  forbid — [Cheers  from  door.  Angrily.] 
Someone  close  that  door.  [A  young  reporter,  pencil  and 
book  in  hand,  leaves  the  line  in  rear,  crosses  to  door  1 
gently  waves  crowd  back,  closes  door  and  remains  there, 
taking  copy.  Delany  brings  down  each  friend  and  mutely 
presents  them.  Swift  almost  rudely  ignores  them.  They 
show  no  resentment,  retiring  to  rear  as  Patrick  comes 
from  door  2  with  a  large  tray,  on  which  many  glasses  of 
liquid.    Music  soft  now.] 

Delany. 

[At  centre,  pose  of  orator.]  Mister  Dean — fellow  citi- 
zens— 'tis  an  occasion — 'tis  an  occasion — [looking  about 
him.]  Faith —  something's  wantin' — [Patrick  nudges  his 
elbow  with  tray.  Delany  brings  a  glass  to  Swift  who 
rudely  declines  it.  Ford  brings  one  to  Stella,  and  one  for 
himself.  Patrick  makes  the  rounds.  Raising  Swift's 
rejected  glass  to  Stella.]  To  the  Dean's  inspiration  for 
many  a  day — [cheers.  Stella  half -rises,  embarrassed,  yet 
smiling,  sitting  again.]  Gentlemen — here's  to  Irish  Lib- 
erty— may  Erin  have  the  pr-r-roud  pr-r-rivilege  o'  wavin' 
waistcoats  for  all  av  us  an'  thr-r-rousers  for  those  that  are 
left — [laughter.    Oblivious  to  his  own  bull.]    May  Erin — . 

[Loud  cheers  from  outside.  Citizens  point  to  the  two- 
paned  window  over  door  1  where  the  head  and  shoulders 
of  a  man  appear,  in  his  hand  a  laurel  wreath.  Cries  be- 
yond— "THE  DEAN" — Delany  crosses  to  Swift, 
mutely  points  to  wreath,  wanting  him  to  speak.  Swift 
refuses.  Delany  takes  counsel  with  his  friends.  They 
urge  him  forward.  He  goes  to  left,  the  wreath  is  dropped 
into  his  hand.     From  then  on  the  man  in  window  panto- 


138  DEAN     SWIFT 

mimes  to  those  without  what  takes  place  in  the  room, 
thus  directing  the  cheers.  Delany  blozvs  his  nose,  clears 
his  throat,  wreath  in  hand  and  pose  of  orator,  begins, 
with  strong  emotion  and  with  eloquence,  facing  Swift  but 
addressing  citizens. \ 

Fellow-citizens — we  are  gathered  here  today  to  celebrate 
the  birthday  of  the  man — who — these  many  months,  has 
fought  and  won  for  us  so  many  civic  victories.  A  strong 
soul — a  brilliant  mind — a  tender  heart.  Fellow-citizens, 
time  may  come  and  time  may  go — but  the  name  of  Jono- 
than  Swift  will  not  only  adorn  the  pages  of  History — but 
will  be  enshrined  within  every  Irish  heart — FOREVER. 
[Crossing  to  Swift,  to  loud  applause,  Delany  hangs  the 
wreath  on  the  high  back  of  Swift's  chair — where  it  forms 
a  "halo"  for  his  head.  Then,  joining  his  friends,  all  crying 
as  they  go  to  left,  the  man  at  window  dropping  from  sight, 
"To  Lord  Mayor" — "To  Lord  Mayor" — "Freedom  of 
City" — "Freedom  of  City" — the  band  playing,  all  hurry- 
ing off.  Ford  salutes  Stella,  then  Swift,  and  follows 
after.  Door  1  closed.  Melody  and  voices  fade  off  as  Pat- 
rick exits  with  glasses  door  2.] 

Swift. 

[Making  sure  that  door  1  is  closed.  Grimly.]  Thank 
heaven — that's  over! 

Stella. 
[Radiant.]     But — your  name  on  the  pages  of  history — . 

Swift. 

I'll  thank  History  to  leave  my  name  in  peace — wi'  the 
dust  that  shall  be  me — the  peace  that  I've  ne'er  found  on 
earth — [Coming  to  Stella.  Remorsefully.]  Pale  shadow 
of  my  darling  girl — . 


BE  AN     SWIFT  139 

Stella. 
[To  comfort  him.]     Nay,  Swift — 'twas  only  that  you 
were  so  long  away — ! 

Swift. 
[Bitterly.]      Aye — away   chasm'   shadows — will-o'-the- 
wisps  that  blinded  me  to  the  true  gold  within  my  Deanery 
walls — . 

Stella. 
But  now  that  you  are  home  again — . 

Swift. 
Never  again  to  leave  it — [Moodily,  taking  her  hand.] 
Some  day  you'll  be  givin'  this  little  hand  away — leaving 
the  Deanery  to  brighten  some  good  man's  home — . 

Stella. 
No — no — Swift — I  shall  never  leave  you — . 

Swift. 
[Suddenly  moving  off,  pondering.  Then  humbly.] 
Child,  there's  but  one  way  to  make  me  sure  of  that — 
[Stella's  radiant  look  shows  she  understands.]  Tell 
me — could  ye  be  happy  for  life — wi'  a  man  that's  often 
moody  and  sometimes  mad? 

Stella. 
[Half -rising,   radiant.]      Swift — dear   Swift — [coming 
to  him.] 

Swift. 
[Waving  her  to  wait.]     Think  well,  child — 'Tis  a  sac- 
rifice I  ask  of  you — . 

Stella. 
A   sacrifice?     'Tis  an  honor— AN   HONOR— I   will 
have  it  so — [running  to  his  embrace.] 


140  DEAN     SWIFT 

Swift. 
[Humbly,  kissing  her  hand.]     Ah-h — I'm  not  worthy 
so  sweet  a  gift — . 

Stella. 
Ah,  Swift — [her  head  on  his  breast.] 

Swift. 
Not  worthy — . 

Stella. 
And  I've  loved  you  so  long — so  long — . 

Swift. 
[Moodily.]     And  I — that  was  ever  blind — . 

Patrick. 
[Coming  from  door  2.]   Yer  Rivirence — . 

Swift. 
[Frowning,  instantly  releasing  Stella.]     What  now, 
sirrah  ? 

Patrick. 
Archbishop  waits  in  Cathedral — . 

Swift. 
[Imperiously.]  Bid  him  await  my  pleasure — [Stella 
gently  touches  his  arm,  smiles.  Swift's  face  clears.  In 
softer  tone  to  Patrick.]  Ask  of  Archbishop  ten  minutes 
to  enrobe — [Patrick  salutes,  exits  door  2.]  And  thou, 
child,  shalt  meet  me  after  service — . 

Stella. 
[Falteringly.]     After — service — . 

Swift. 
In  sacristy — . 


DEAN     SWIFT  141 

Stella. 
In — sacristy — . 

Swift. 
Then  straight  to  the  altar-rails  of  my  cathedral — where 
the  Archcbishop  shall  make  of  thee  my  wife — . 

Stella. 
Thy  wife — till  death  do  us  part — . 

Swift. 
Amen !  [His  arm  about  her,  he  takes  her  to  right. 
Stella  slips  from  his  arms  as  if  to  open  door  3.  Then 
pausing  there  she  looks  radiantly  back  at  Swift,  throwing 
wide  her  arms.  Swift,  staring  at  her  under  his  hand, 
backs  to  centre.  Stella  comes  to  him  quickly.  Swift, 
with  a  strange,  hoarse  cry  of  complete  surrender,  kisses 
her,  LINGERINGLY,  on  the  lips.] 

Stella. 
Art  happy  now,  Swift? 

Swift. 
At  last— at  last ! 

Stella. 
Ah-h — [running  from  his  embrace  to  door  3.    Waving 
her   hand    there   with   radiant   smile.]     To    sacristy — to 
sacristy — [exits.] 

[Swift  looks  after  her,  sighs  deeply,  happily,  stares 
round  him  as  if  in  another  world.  Lifts  the  tulips  from  the 
settee,  tenderly  touches  them  with  his  lips,  then  places 
them  on  bookshelf.] 

[Jeems,  in  traveling  dress,  a  letter  in  the  hand  behind 
him,  with  embarrassed  looks,  opens  door  1,  looks  about, 
then  enters.]     Ahem — Dr.  Swift — your  Reverence — . 


142  DE  AN     SWIFT 

Swift. 
[Turning,  with  pleased  look.]     Ah,  'tis  Jeems,  in  Dub- 
lin, so  far  from  London — . 

Jeems. 
Yes  sir — [looking  down.] 

Swift. 
Then   you've   left   the   good    ladies   Van    Homrigh — . 
[Sitting  at  table,  reaching  for  pen  and  paper  J] 

Jeems. 
Yes,  sir — that  is,  sir — . 

Swift. 
'Tis  a  recommend  for  a  place  ye  want  here  in  Dublin? 
Shalt  have  it,  too — [writing.]     "To  whom  it  may  con- 
cern"—  [Repeating  the  written  words.] 

Jeems. 
But,  sir — that  is,  sir — I've  not  left  the  ladies  Van  Hom- 
righ—. 

Swift. 
You've  not?     [Discarding  pen  and  paper  and  rising  as 
if  to  end  the  interview.]      Then  why  are  you  here  in 
Dublin? 

Jeems. 
Your  Reverence  may  have  heard  that — that  Mistress 
Esther  has  been  ill — . 

Swift. 
[With  indifference.]      111?     I'm  sorry,  Jeems — . 

Jeems. 
These  many  weeks.    And,  'gainst  her  mother's  wishes, 
sir,  Mistress  Esther  is  here — . 


DEAN     SWIFT  143 

Swift. 
Here— IN  DUBLIN? 

Jeems. 
In  her  coach,  sir — at  your  gate — . 

Swift. 
AT— MY  GATE? 

Jeems. 
[Timidly  presenting  letter.]     Her  message,  sir — . 

Swift. 

[Savagely,  striking  letter  from  Jeems'  hand  to  table. ] 
I'll  not  receive  her  message — [snatching  the  bundle  of 
letters  from  drawer  and  tossing  them  on  table.]  Nor 
those — nor  those — Take  them  back  to  her  as  I  received 
them— UNOPENED ! 

Jeems. 

[Affrighted,  gathering  up  letters  and  backing  to  door  1.] 
Yes,  yes,  sir — . 

Swift. 

And — wait,  Jeems.  Tell  her — from  Swift — that  she 
can  see  the  Dean  no  more — .  [Exit  Jeems  door  1.] 
Here — in  Dublin — when  I  thought  I'd  made  it  plain  to  her 
that — Here — at  my  gate — [Suddenly  holding  his  head 
with  his  hands,  his  eyes  closed,  a  look  of  agony  on  his 
face.  Then,  recovering,  and  staring  about  him  as  if 
waking  from  sleep.  Sweet  bells  begin  to  chime  softly.] 
Ah — 'tis  past — 'tis  past.  And — with  Stella  beside  me — 
all  may  yet  be  well — [Rising,  going  quickly  to  right  with 
beaming  face.    Exits  door  3.] 


144  DEAN     SWIFT 

[A  slight  pause.  Jeems  cautiously  peers  in  at  door  1. 
Then  he  backs  in,  Esther,  pale,  weak,  pushing  him  with 
her  hands  against  his  breast.  In  dark  dress,  cloak,  a  lace 
scarf  over  her  head.  Jeems  still  carries  the  bundle  of 
letters.  ] 

Jeems. 
[Stepping  aside  as  Esther  comes  down  with  wondering 
look  and  faltering  step.]     Stay  but  a  moment,  Mistress — . 

Esther. 
[Sinking  into  Swift's  chair,  her  dreamy  gaze  moving 
about.]     So — this  is  Swift's  home — Swift's  home.    What 
said  he  to  you,  Jeems,  when  you  told  him — . 

Jeems. 
[To  spare  her.]     Don't  ask  me,  mistress — . 

Esther. 
[Querulously,  weakly.]     But  I  must  know.     Tell  me, 
Jeems — . 

Jeems. 
Well,  then — he — he  bade  me  tell  you  to  return  to  Lon- 
don— to  your  mother  at  once — That's  all,  Mistress — . 

Esther. 
Ah — he  that  was  ever  kind — .     Oh — that  I  might  see 
him  face  to  face — to  ask  of  him — . 

Jeems. 
[Fearing  discovery.]     Come,  Mistress,  'tis  time  to  go — . 

Esther. 
But — Jeems — I've  come  to  see  the  Dean — . 


DEAN     SWIFT  145 

Jeems. 

Yes— tomorrow—  [Trying  to  lift  her  from  the  chair.] 
Come  away — . 

Esther. 
[Resisting.]     No— no — I'm  so  weary— I'll  rest  here  till 
the  Dean — [Patrick  enters  from  door  2.     Seeing  him 
with  joy.]     Ah — Patrick — Patrick — . 

Patrick. 
[Coming  down.]  'Tis  Mistress  Esther— but  so  changed 
—so  changed— [Jeems,  behind  Esther,  signals  to  Pat- 
rick.] 

Esther. 
I've  been  so  ill,  Patrick.     But  when  I  see  the  Dean 
again — . 

Patrick. 
[Taking  Jeems'  cue.]     Yes,  Mistress  Esther— tomor- 
row— . 

Jeems. 
Come  to  your  coach,  Mistress — . 

Esther. 
No — I  will  not — . 

Patrick. 

But  tomorrow,  Miss — tomorrow — . 

Esther. 
[Rising  with  sudden  fire.]     I  shall  see  the  Dean — if  at 
the  altar-rails  of  his  Cathedral — . 

Patrick. 
[To  Jeems'  look  of  dismay.]     Well,  then — best  ye  wait 
an'  see  him  in  the  sacristy — . 


146  BE  AN     SWIFT 

Esther. 
[Eagerly.]     Which  way,  Patrick,  which  way?  [Moving 
to  door  1.) 

Patrick. 
[Following  and  opening  door  1,  pointing  off.]     See  that 
path  yonder? 

Esther. 
Yes — yes — . 

Patrick. 
Folly  it  an'  it'll  bring  ye  to  the  sacristy  door — . 

Esther. 
[Looking    back   gratefully.]      Ah —   good — kind    Pat- 
rick—  [Moving  out,  followed  by  Jeems.   Patrick  remains 
looking  after  them.] 


ACT  FOURTH— SCENE  SECOND. 

Instant  rise  of  curtain  on  scene  already  set. 

Sacristy  of  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral,  Dublin.  A 
wide,  oak-panelled  room.  Three  doors.  Door  1  at 
left  opens  on  a  sunny,  grassy  court  ending  with  an 
ivy-covered  wall.  Door  2  in  back-centre,  open  and 
lighted,  shows  several  white  surplices  and  black  cas- 
socks within.  Door  3  down  right-front  is  a  double 
door,  leading  by  a  corridor  to  the  Cathedral.  One  side 
open  at  rise.  Set  high  in  the  centre  of  the  rear  wall  is 
a  large  stained-glass  window,  the  sun  shining  through 
and  focusing  onto  the  massive  reading-desk  dowtt 
centre,  an  open  bible  with  crimson  markings  on  same. 
At  left  is  a  baptismal  font  filled  with  bouquets,  the 
donors'  names  on  cards.  A  massive  settee  is  along 
right.  A  stately  scene,  its  gloom  lightened  by  the 
stained-glass  window  and  the  bouquets. 

At  Rise — People  passing  door  1  quickly,  without  looking 
into  the  sacristy,  all  going  to  the  Cathedral  service. 
Choristers  sky-larking  at  centre  in  white  surplices  and 
black  cassocks.  A  tall  Precentor  is  giving  out  hymnals 
and  trying  to  keep  order.  Distant  boom  of  organ  and 
faint  chime  of  bells. 

Precentor. 
Order  there — order — S-h-h — [A  boy  comes  through  the 
double  door  with  raised  hand  as  he  opens  both  sides  of 
door,  awaiting  Swift.]  Open  hymnals — page  fourteen — 
yes — page  fourteen  I  said — S-h-h — [Swift  comes 
through  double  door  with  gracious  smile.    All  salute  him.] 


148  DE  AN     SWIF  T 

Swift. 
All's  ready,  Precentor? 

Precentor. 

[Indicating  door  2  with  salute.]  All's  ready,  reverend 
sir — . 

Swift. 

Precentor,  you  must  make  me  look  grand  today.  For, 
after  service — detain  your  choristers — shall  want  'em 
for — Well — detain  'em — [Precentor  salutes,  precedes 
Swift  into  door  2  which  he  closes.  Ford  enters  door  1. 
He  looks  about  him,  beckons  a  boy,  whispers,  the  boy  nods 
and  points  to  door  2.  Ford  smiles,  begins  to  read  names 
on  bouquets,  the  boy  rejoins  his  fellows.  A  slight  pause. 
Then  Swift,  stately  in  cassock  and  white  surplice,  comes 
from  door  2,  followed  by  the  Precentor,  who  rejoins  his 
boys  at  the  end  of  the  line.] 

Swift. 
[Meeting  Ford  at  centre  with  beaming  took.]  Ford — . 

Ford. 
[Giving    his    hand.]       Swift — .     Your    Cathedral    is 
crowded — to  see  the  lion  of  the  hour — . 

Swift. 
[Laughing.]     Who'll  be  a  forgotten  mouse  tomorrow. 
But — I  care  not — for — after  service  Stella  gives  herself 
to  me — . 

Ford. 
[With  emotion.]     Congratulations — . 

Swift. 
To   me — unworthy   me — Stella — the   one   woman   I've 
always    loved — And     so — forever    done    wi'    politics — 


DEAN     SWIFT  149 

for — [hurried  look  about,  in  lozver  tone.]  Looke,  Ford — 
there's  often  a  dizziness  here — [indicating  brow]  an  al- 
most mortal  agony — a  sudden  blank — Ah — [clasping  his 
brow  with  closed  eyes  and  clenched  hands.]     Ah-h-h — 

Ford. 
Heavens,   Swift — [in  deep  alarm.     Swift  recovers.] 
Good  God,  sir — . 

Swift. 
[Faintly  smiling.]     Nay — 'tis  past — 'tis  past — and  with 
Stella  beside  me — a  quiet  fireside — all  may  yet  be  well. 

Ford. 
[Seizing  his  hands.]     God  grant  it,  sir. 

Swift. 
Then — after  service — here  in  sacristy? 

Ford. 
With  all  my  heart — my  soul — [wringing  Swift's  hand, 
turning  and  exits  door  3.  Swift  looks  after  him  with 
beaming  smile.  The  Preceftor  brings  an  open  hymnal 
to  Swift,  salutes,  goes  to  the  last  of  the  double  line  of 
boys,  Swift  follows,  chanting  with  the  rest  as  they  slowly 
move  to  double  door,  the  organ  as  accompaniment.] 

PROCESSIONAL: 

O — worship  the  Lord  in  the  beauty  of  holiness — 
Beauty  of  holiness — beauty  of  holiness — . 
Let  the  whole  earth  stand  in  awe  of  Him — 
Awe  of  Him — awe  of  Him — . 
Be  Thou  exalted  above  the  heavens — 
And  let  Thy  glory  be  above  all  the  earth — . 
O — worship  the  Lord — 
Worship — the  L-o-r-d — . 


150  DEAN     SWIFT 

[All  exit  through  double  door  which  closes,  the  voices 
gradually  die,  the  organ  continuing  softly,  the  bells  now 
silent.] 

[A  slight  pause.  Stella  enters  door  1.  She  wears  the 
same  dress,  a  gray  cape  and  a  small  bonnet  of  gray,  its 
ribbons  tied  under  her  chin.  She  looks  radiantly  happy 
and  enters  quickly,  making  for  the  settee,  on  which  she 
sits.  Dingley  follows.  In  dark  dress,  shawl  and  bonnet, 
with  sour  look,  red-rimmed  eyes,  a  handkerchief  in  her 
hand.  She  follows  Stella  more  slowly,  making  for  the 
double  door  and  listening  there  with  set  lips.] 

Stella. 
Dingley  dear — [Dingley  pretends  not  to  hear.]    Ding- 
ley — come  here — [patting  the  seat  near  her.] 

Dingley. 
Then  we're  not  to  enter  Cathedral — . 

Stella. 
No — no — . 

Dingley. 
Not  to  hear  those  silly  Irish  rej'icin'? 

Stella. 
The  Dean's  wishes  are,  that  we  await  him  here  in  sac- 
risty— . 

Dingley. 

Humph — [crossing  unwillingly  and  sitting  on  settee.] 

Stella. 
Ah — Dingley — [leaning  her  head  on  Dingley's  shoul- 
der.]    I'm  so  happy — so  happy — Ah-h — . 

Dingley. 
It  tuck  Swift  a  1-o-n-g  time  to  make  up  his  mind — . 


BE  AN     SWIFT  151 

Stella. 
Now — now — Dingley  dear — . 

Dingley. 
Ow-w-w — [sobbing  into  her  handkerchief.] 

Stella. 
[An  arm  about  Dingley.]     There,  there,  dear — never 
weep  when  I'm  so  happy — . 

Dingley. 
[Getting  away  from  Stella.]     Lave  me  alone — lave 
me  alone — .    As  for  Swift — isn't  he  takin'  ye  away  from 
me? 

Stella. 
'Deed — 'deed — nothing  will  be  changed — . 

Dingley. 
I    know    better — [imitating    Swift's   grand   manner.'] 
It'll  be  "Mistress  Dingley — the  room  for  self  and  wife" 
or  "To  almshouse  wi'  ye,  Dingley.     Yer  ould — an'  use- 
less—." 

Stella. 
[Coldly.]      Ah — you've  always  hated  the   Dean — and 
for  no  reason! 

Dingley. 
For  no  reason,  is't?    Was  it  "no  reason"  that  ye  fell 
ill  because  of  him — "no  reason"  that — because  o'  his  other 
charmer — . 

Stella. 
[Rising  to  move  off.]     MISTRESS  DINGLEY—. 

Dingley. 
[Remorseful,  catching  her  dress.]     Child — child — can't 
ye  see  that  I'm  only  jealous? 


152  DEAN     SWIFT 

Stella. 
Yet  could  coin  a  lie  'gainst  the  man  I  love? 

Dingley. 
[Fiercely,  rising.]     Tis  NO  lie — and  lest  I  telle  more — 
[making  for  door  1.) 

Stella. 
[Intercepting  and  bringing  her  down.]     Now — tell  me 
all — ALL— or  I  must  believe  that  Mistress  Dingley  is — . 

Dingley. 
A  LIAR?     Take  it,  then!     Whilst  ye  lay  ill  Swift's 
other  charmer  writ  letters  to  him — . 

Stella. 
[Recoiling.]     Writ — letters — to  Swift? 

Dingley. 
Aye — a  dozen  of  'em — I've  held  'em  in  my  two  hands — . 

Stella. 
No — no — I'll  not  believe — I'll  not  believe — [yet  show- 
ing she  DOES.] 

Dingley. 

Ford  saw  'em,  too — the  dozen  of  'em — . 

Stella. 

Ford  saw?     [Falling  on  settee  to  rock  back  and  forth 
with  tears.] 

Dingley. 

[Distracted  with  remorse,  kneeling  beside  her.]    Child — 
child — Listen  to  me — 'twas  all  a  lie — . 

Stella. 
Ah — Swift  is  false  to  me — . 


DEAN     SWIFT  153 

DlNGLEY. 

Nay — listen.     Tis  a  lie — . 

Stella. 
False  to  me — . 

Dingley. 
[Seizing    Stella's   hands.]      Listen,    child.      [Stella 
pauses  to  listen.]     Twas  all  a  lie — a  lie — There  were  NO 
letters — . 

Stella. 
DINGLEY ! ! ! 

Dingley. 
I  swear  it— not  a  single  letter—.    'Twas  a  wicked  lie—. 

Stella. 
[Mopping  her  eyes.]     Ah— thou  jealous  Dingley—. 

Dingley. 
My  little  Stella — poor  lamb — Canst  forgive  me? 

Stella. 
[Sweetly,  kissing  her.]     Yes— I  can— I  do— Ah— thou 
naughty  Dingley — . 

Dingley. 
[Humbly,  kissing  her  hand.]     Sweet  child—. 

[Through  door  1  Esther  enters,  followed  by  Jeems 
still  carrying  the  letters.  Jeems  remains  near  door  1. 
Esther  comes  slowly  down  with  faltering  step  and 
dreamy  look,  pausing  near  the  reading-desk.] 

Stella. 

[To  Dingley,  pointing  to  Esther,  with  a  look  of 
suspicion.]     Dingley — . 


154  DE  AN     SWIF  T 

DlNGLEY. 

[Her  face  wearing  the  same  look.]     Aye,  aye — [taking 
her  place  behind  Stella  with  set  lips.] 

Stella. 
[Coldly,  distinctly.]     Madam? 

Esther. 
[Startled  look  toward  settee.]    Ah — ! 

Stella. 
Madam,  your  name  ? 

Esther. 
[Timidly.]     Tis  Esther  Van  Homrigh — . 

Stella. 
[To  Dingley.]     TIS  SHE!     [Dingley  nods.] 

Esther. 
And,  madam — yours? 

Stella. 
[Proudly.]     'Tis  Stella  Johnson—! 

Esther. 
[With  startled  look,  to  herself.]    'TIS  SHE ! 

Stella. 
And — your  errand  here? 

Esther. 
[Pleadingly.]     'Tis  to  see  the  Dean — . 

Stella. 
To  see  the  Dean?    And  why,  madam? 


DE  AN     SWIFT  155 

Esther. 
Because — ah,  madam — for  two  happy  years  Swift  made 
our  house  his  home — .  He — that  had  the  world  for  his 
friends — condescended  to  be  friend  to  me — .  Is't  any 
wonder  that  I  learned  to  love  him?  I  love  him  still  and 
have  severed  ties  of  home  and  kindred — . 

Stella. 
[With  scorn.]     To  follow  him  to  Dublin? 

Esther. 
To  the  world's  end  if  need  be!  Ah,  madam — [taking 
poem  from  her  bosom]  this  poem — written  to  me  two 
short  months  ago — [Reading  the  poem  with  tearful 
emotion.  Stella  listens  with  growing  belief  in  Swift's 
falseness.    Dingley  with  a  grim  smile.] 

"Would  from  her  height  of  youth  and  beauty 
Stoop  low  to  weary  pilgrim's  hand 
My  lady  fair?    For  wifely  duty 
Leave  all  this  world  can  give, 
At  my  command?" 

Stella. 
[Brokenly.]     For  wifely  duty !! ! 

Dingley. 
Aye — didn't   I   warn  ye? 

Esther. 
[Kissing  and  replacing  the  poem.  Swift  enters  door 
3.  His  beaming  look  changes  to  a  heavy  frown  as  he 
pauses  there.  Dingley  alone  sees  him.  She  utters  a 
low,  scornful  laugh.]  Ah,  madam,  isn't  it  proof  that 
Swift  loves  me?  But  there  are  ties  that  bind  him  to 
another — . 


156  DEAN     SWIFT 

Stella. 
[With  tears.]     And  if  those  ties  were  broken — ? 

Esther. 
[Kneeling  and  pressing  Stella's  dress  to  her  lips,  her 
face  radiant.]     Ah — madam — ah-h — . 

Stella. 
[Now  discovering  Swift  as  he  comes  down.    Looking 
at  him,  but  speaking  to  Esther.]     Then,  madam,  from 
this  moment  Swift  is  free — !      [Rising  and  turning  to 
Dingley  with  extended  arms.]     Dingley — Dingley — . 

[Esther  rises  slowly,  sees  Swift  and  retreats  to  rear 
with  affrighted  looks.  Jeems  nears  her  protectingly. 
Swift  ignores  Esther  all  through  scene.] 

Dingley. 
[Taking  Stella  to  her  bosom  and  glaring  over  her 
head  at  Swift.]     My  poor  lamb — . 

Swift. 
[Sternly,  to  Stella.]     Stella — [Moving  toward  her.] 

Stella. 
[With  tears.]     Don't  touch  me — don't  touch  me — . 

Swift. 
STELLA—! 

Stella. 
Dingley,  take  me  away — away — . 

Dingley. 
Fear  naught,  child.    Dingley  is  here  to  protect  you ! 


DEAN     SWIFT  157 

Swift. 
Since  when,  Mistress  Dingley,  hath  it  been  needful  to 
"protect"  a  woman  in  the  Deanery  of  Swift? 

Dingley. 
Ask  her — your  Lunnun  charmer — . 

Swift. 
So  then — ye've  lured  yonder  girl  across  the  channel  to 
tell  a  tale  that  is  but  half  the  truth?     [Signs  of  agony 
showing.  ] 

Dingley. 
She    came    hersel* — to    demand    the    keepin'    o'    your 
promises — ! 

Swift. 
Promises — PROMISES?      [Suddenly  flinging  up  his 
arms  with  wild  look.] 

Stella. 
Ah,  then — deny  her  story — .    Say  that  you  did  not  write 
the  poem — . 

Swift. 
Ha  ha  ha — Deny  it?  [Superbly.]  Why  should  I? 
'Twas  writ — like  a  thousand  others,  to  the  beauties  o' 
the  English  court — .  Was  missing  Maid  o'  Honor?  Find 
her  in  the  arms  of  Swift — .  Was  wanted  faithless  wife? 
Ha  ha — seek  her  in  the  lodgin's  o'  the  Dean — . 

Dingley. 
Aye — aye — Quane's  bed-chamber — Quane's  bed-cham- 
ber— .     [To  Stella,  leading  her  to  left.]     Come  away, 
child—. 

Swift. 
Aye — aye — [jeeringly,  down  front  as  if  alone.]     An 
honor  to  be  Mistress  Swift — an  honor — she  would  have 
it  so. — 


158  DEAN     SWIFT 

Stella. 
[With  appealing  arms.]     Swift — dear  Swift — . 

Swift. 
Till   death  do  us  part — .     Her  words — her   LYING 
words — . 

Dingley. 
Come  away,  child — come  away  to  Mistress  White — to 
Lunnun — [bearing  Stella  out  at  left,  the  door  closing 
with  a  slam.] 

Swift. 
[Waking  to  the  noise,  staring  wildly  about,  then  to 
settee.  Suddenly  dashing  to  door  1  he  tears  it  open  and 
stands  in  the  afternoon  sunlight  peering  off  under  his 
hand.  Esther  shrinks  close  to  door  2  beside  Jeems. 
After  a  moment  Swift  re-enters,  comes  down  front  with 
staring  eyes,  finger  on  lips.  Then,  explosively.]  She's 
gone — GONE.  'Twas  Dingley  took  her  away — Dingley — 
curse  her — / 

Jeems. 
[In  low  tone,  seizing  Esther's  arm.]      Come  away, 
Mistress — . 

Esther. 
[Watching  Swift  with  pitying  look.]    No — no — I'll  not 
go— 

Jeems. 
But,  Mistress,  can't  you  see  that  he's  mad? 

Esther. 
Mad!!!      Ah — 'tis    what   he   always    feared — .      [Be- 
ginning to  move  toward  Swift,  Jeems  follows  closely.] 


DEAN     SWIFT  159 

Swift. 
[Turning,  discovering  Esther  as  if  a  stranger.  Beckon- 
ing her  with  winning  smile.]     Come  hither,  madam — who 
are  you  and  what  do  you  here? 

Jeems. 
[Holding  Esther  back.]     Mistress  Esther — . 

Swift. 
Come — I    say — [Esther    snatches    the    letters    from 
Jeems  and  approaches  Swift  with  sweetly  pitying  look. 
Swift   takes   her  hand.]      Your  name,    Madam — [Soft 
tones  of  organ  begin.] 

Esther. 
Tis  Esther  Van   Homrigh.      [Swift's  sudden  recoil 
shows  his  mind  is  clearing.] 

Jeems. 
[Loudly.  ]     Mistress — Beware — Beware — . 

Swift. 
Esther  Van  Homrigh?    Aye — so  'tis  [with  infinite  sar- 
casm.]    And  what  sees  your  fine  ladyship  in  wretched 
Dublin? 

Esther. 

[Tenderly.]     'Twas  to  see  the  Dean — 'tis  now  to  com- 
fort him — . 

Swift. 
[Towering  above  her.]     So,  madam.     You've  not  only 
crossed  the  channel  in  pursuit  of  me  but  have  forced  my 
gates  as  well?     [Forcing  her  to  her  knees.]     You  have 
dared— DARED— . 


160  DEAN     SWIFT 

Esther. 

[With  terrified  look  and  loosened  hair,  holding  up  let- 
ters.] 'Twas  to  ask  the  question  that's  written  here — 
Swift — Swift — . 

Swift. 

[Snatching  letters  and  flinging  them  broadcast.  Jeems 
comes  and  gathers  them  up  quickly.]  The  question? 
Tis  answered.  [Grandly,  thinking  Jeems  is  Patrick. 
Pointing  to  RIGHT.]  Patrick  —  summon  madam's 
coach — .  Escort  her  to  my  gate — [Voices  of  choristers 
faintly  heard.  Swift  catches  the  sounds,  moves  to  read- 
ing-desk and  begins  to  beat  time  with  happy  smile.  Jeems 
half -carries  Esther  out  door  1.] 

Choristers. 
[Faintly  chanting  beyond  door  3.   Swift's  lips  move  as 
if  repeating  the  words.] 

O — praise  the  Lord — praise  the  L-o-r-d — 
Show  yourselves  joyful  to  the  L-o-r-d — . 

Swift. 
[Beating  time  and  now  chanting  with  the  others.] 
Set  me  a  seal  upon  mine  arm — mine  arm — 
A  seal — a  seal  upon  mine  heart — . 
For  love — for  love  is  strong  as  death — 
As  strong  as  d-e-a-t-h — 
For  1-o-v-e  i-s  s-t-r-o-n-g — . 

[Voices  die  away  as  Swift  wakes  to  anguish.] 
"For  love  is  strong  as  death — "    God — oh  God — [fall- 
ing face  down  at  reading-desk.] 

»  Ford. 

[Enters  door  3  with  beaming  smile.  Discovering 
Swift.]     Swift — [thinking  him  at  prayer,  pausing.  After 


DE  AN     SWIF  T  161 

a  moment  gently  touching  his  arm.]  Swift — 'tis  time 
for  the  ceremony — Archbishop  waits — .  Time  for  hap- 
piness and  Stella — . 

Swift. 
[Raising  a  haggard  face.]     Stella?  Stella's  gone — ! 

Ford. 
[Recoiling.]     Gone,  sir?     You  mean  that — . 

Swift. 


Ford. 


Gone  with  Dingley- 

With  Dingley? 

Swift. 

To  London — Gone  from  me — forever!  [Again  falling 
face  down  at  reading-desk  as  Ford  retreats  to  right  to 
stand,  his  face  on  his  arm  against  the  wall.] 

[Distant  sounds,  the  same  rollicking  melody,  cheers  and 
cries  of  "The  Dean" — "Lord  Mayor-r-" — "Freedom  of 
C-i-t-y — ."  Delany,  his  friends  and  the  Lord  Mayor  in 
his  robes  of  state,  bearing  a  large  golden  key  on  a  crimson 
velvet  cushion,  enters  door  1,  the  green-coated  band  play- 
ing and  a  cheering  crowd  of  citizens  beyond  door.  De- 
lany again  intent  on  ranging  his  friends  against  the  rear 
wall.  Swift's  posture  is  taken  by  all  to  mean  that  he  is 
in  prayer  till  Ford  crosses,  points  to  Swift  and  whispers 
the  truth.  Delany  whispers  the  truth  to  those  near  him, 
the  Lord  Mayor  gets  it,  Delany  signals  to  the  band,  the 
crowd  beyond.  The  animated  picture  becomes  a  silent 
tableau  as — .] 

CURTAIN. 
End  of  Act  Fourth. 


EPILOGUE. 

Sitting-room  of  the  Deanery  of  St.  Patrick's 
Cathedral.  Twenty-five  years  later.  Late  afternoon 
of  an  autumn  day. 

[The  sitting-room  shows  the  marks  of  time.  Chairs  set 
primly  against  the  rear  wall.  The  silken  curtains,  frayed 
and  faded,  drawn  apart  over  the  empty  bookshelves. 
The  flag  with  the  letter  T  still  hangs  on  the  wall,  its 
colors  faded.  Table  now  at  back-centre,  bare  of  all 
but  a  green-shaded  lamp.  Swift's  chair  is  at  right, 
its  crimson  faded.  The  two-paned  window  over  door 
1  is  open  and  shows  a  bit  of  blue  sky.  All  doors 
closed.  ] 

[Ford,  richly  but  sombrely  dressed,  his  hair  silvered  at  the 
temples  and  his  face  older,  sits  at  the  table  reading  a 
book.  Patrick  is  entering  from  door  3  a  second 
green-shaded  lamp  in  hand.  Patrick's  hair  is  silvered 
though  his  cheeks  are  still  ruddy.  He  walks  with  the 
slouching  gait  of  the  old  peasant  as  he  crosses  to  place 
the  lamp  on  the  mantel-shelf ,  turning  its  wick  up  and 
down  in  childish  pleasure,  finally  moving  off  to  idly 
flick  the  chairs  with  his  red  cotton  handkerchief. 
After  a  moment  distant  music  is  heard.  Patrick 
listens  with  childish  delight.] 

Ford. 
[Looking  up.]     Hark,  Patrick — . 


DEAN     SWIFT  163 

Patrick. 
[Rubbing  his  hands  with  glee.]     Aye,  Masther  Ford — . 
An'  they'll  be  lightin'  the  bonfires  soon — . 

Ford. 
[Sadly.]    Swift's  birthday  which  Dublin's  honored  these 
many  years — .     [Sighing.]     Any  letters  to  answer,  Pat- 
rick? 

Patrick. 
Nary  wan,  sor.     Sure,  the  Dane's  friends  ha'  all  for- 
saken him — . 

Ford. 
But    five-an-twenty   years    make    great   changes,    Pat- 
rick—.    How  is  the  Dean  this  afternoon?     Any  clearer 
in  mind? 

Patrick. 
No.    He's  sittin'  wi'  his  head  on  his  breast  as  he's  sat 
these  five  years — thinkin'  av  nothin' — [After  a  moment.] 
Those  mad  fits,  sor — . 

Ford. 
Heaven  grant  they  trouble  him  no  more.      [Reading 
again.] 

Patrick. 
[Coming  down,  eagerly.]     When  the  Dane's  gone  am 
to  ring  Cathedral  bell,  sor? 

Ford. 
[Discarding  book  to  walk  about.     After  a  moment.] 
Yes. 

Patrick. 
[Rubbing  his  hands  with  glee.]     A  pull  for  every  year, 
sor — That'll  make  seventy  sthrokes,  do'ent  they,  Masther 
Ford? 


164  DEAN     SWIFT 

Ford. 
[After  a  moment.]     Yes,   Patrick,  seventy  strokes — 
[Looking  at  his  watch.]     Five  o'clock.     The  people  will 
soon  be  here.    Bring  the  Dean  in,  as  usual,  and  place  him 
in  his  chair. 

Patrick. 
Yes,  sor   [Slouching  out  door  3.] 
[Ford  returns  to  read  his  book.     Then  a  bronzed  and 
bearded  man  in  travelling  dress  enters  door  1   without 
knocking.     Ford  looks  up  at  him  as  at  a  stranger,  rising 
with  a  smile.] 

Richard  Hays. 

[Coming  quickly  forward  with  extended  hand  and 
genial  smile.]     Ah,  Ford — . 

Ford. 
[Taking  the  hand.]     Yes?    And — you? 

Richard. 
[With  a  deep  laugh.]      Richard  Hays — at  your  ser- 
vice— . 

Ford. 
[Surprised,  smiling.]      Indeed?     From  London? 

Richard. 

Aha — now  of  America — [taking  the  chair  that  Ford 
indicates,  tossing  his  hat  on  table  and  sitting  at  ease.] 
Richard  Hays — the  irritable  puppy  of  other  days — ha  ha — 
who  "exiled"  himself — himself  for  a  woman's  sake — . 
But — ha  ha — I  met  another  and  a  fairer  Esther  who's 
now  the  happy  mother  of  sons  and  daughters — You  also 
married,  Ford? 

Ford. 

[Gravely,  after  a  moment.]  No.  When  did  you  ar- 
rive? 


BE  AN     SWIF  T  165 

Richard. 
But  yesterday — after  a  voyage  of  many  weeks.     [Look- 
ing round.]     And — the  Dean — how  is  he? 

Ford. 
You've  surely  heard — ? 

Richard. 
Ha  ha — there  are  no  post-offices  on  an  American  plan- 
tation.    But  from  the  bonfires — the  green  flags — Swift's 
name  on  every  lip — . 

Ford. 
Swift's  birthday,  which  Dublin's  celebrated  these  five- 
and-twenty  years. 

Richard. 
Ah — Swift  was  ever  a  genius — though  to  my  young 
eyes — [A  pause.  With  regret.]  Five-and-twenty  years 
have  carried  off  my  London  friends.  My  aunt — little 
Molly — [rising  and  walking  about.  Abruptly.]  I  heard 
but  once  from  my  cousin  Esther — .  Swift  killed  her  as 
surely  as  if  he'd  put  a  bullet  into  her  heart — . 

Ford. 
Yet  the  Dean  paid  the  highest  price  of  all — . 

Richard. 

Mistress  Stella — . 

Ford. 
When  the  Deanery  gates  closed  upon  her — [silent.] 

Richard. 
And — the  Dean? 

Ford. 
Devoted  himself  to  his  country's  welfare — Till — a  sud- 
den darkness — . 


166  DEAN     SWIFT 

Richard. 
A — sudden  darkness?    You  mean — ? 

[Ford  points  to  right  where  Patrick  is  leading  the 
Dean  in.  Swift  is  the  shadow  of  his  former  self. 
Shrunken  form,  lustreless  eyes,  his  snowy  hair  falling  to 
his  shoulders.  In  black  cassock  and  linen  bands.  In  his 
right  hand  he  carries  a  white  handkerchief.  Patrick 
the  awe  of  "the  masther"  absent,  places  Swift  in  his 
chair  and  moves  to  rear,  beginning  to  flick  the  chairs  with 
his  handkerchief.  Swift's  head  begins  to  roll  from  side 
to  side,  his  eyes  closed,  on  his  forehead  a  querulous 
frown.] 

Ford. 

[Moving  to  Swift  and  gently  brushing  a  silver  lock 
from  his  brow.  Not  lowering  his  voice.]  Come  nearer, 
Richard — . 

Richard. 
[Moving  to  Swift,  his  face  showing  his  amaze,  regret. 
Lowering  his  voice.]     God — what  a  change  is  here — what 
a  change.    For  how  long? 

Ford. 
[Not  lowering  his  voice.]     These  five  years  past — . 

Richard. 
He  remembers  nothing  of  the  past? 

Ford. 
Try  him  and  see. 

Richard. 

Swift— 'Tis  Richard  Hays— [Swift  makes  no  sign.] 
Forgotten ! 


dean    swift  167 

Ford. 
[As  if  addressing  Swift.]     As  is  the  name  of — MIS- 
TRESS STELLA!    [Swift  makes  no  sign.    The  rollick- 
ing  melody  of  other  days  and  the  cheering  voices  reach 
to  beyond  door  1.] 

Richard. 
[Frowning.]     That  uproar — . 

Ford. 
He  hears  it  not — . 

[Patrick  hurries  to  Ford  and  points  to  the  head  and 
shoulders  of  a  man  rising  within  the  two-paned  window,  a 
wreath  in  one  hand,  a  page  of  printed  matter  in  the  other. 
Ford  beckons  Richard  to  stand  with  him  beyond  Swift's 
chair.  Man  at  window  pantomimes  to  those  below  for 
silence.    Reading  from  page.] 

Fellow-citizens,  we  are  gathered  here  today  to  celebrate 
the  birthday  of  the  man — who — these  many  years — has 
fought  and  won  for  us  so  many  civic  victories.  A  strong 
soul — a  brilliant  mind — a  tender  heart.  Fellow-citizens, 
time  may  come  and  time  may  go — but  the  name  of  Jono- 
than  Swift  will  not  only  adorn  the  pages  of  History — but 
will  be  enshrined  within  every  Irish  heart — FOREVER. 

[Wild  cheers  without.  Ford  crosses  to  left,  man  in 
window  drops  the  wreath  into  his  hand,  pantomiming  in- 
cidents within  to  those  outside.  Ford  places  the  wreath 
on  the  tzvist  at  the  back  of  Swift's  chair,  where  it  forms 
a  "halo"  for  his  snowy  head.  Loud  cries  of  "The 
D-A-N-E—."] 

A  Voice  Outside. 
[Vibrant,  like  a  trumpet-call.]     Swift — Swift — VIVA 
SWIFT— SPEECH— S-P-E-E-C-H— . 


168  DEAN     SWIFT 

[Swift's  eyes  open  suddenly,  his  head  stops  rolling,  he 
shows  that  he  hears  the  call.  Ford,  Richard  and  Patrick 
draw  nearer.  Swift  struggles  to  rise,  his  glance  up  at  the 
window,  he  rises,  raises  his  hand  with  the  authority  of 
other  days — makes  an  effort  to  speak — suddenly  collapses 
into  chair,  the  hand  holding  the  handkerchief  falls  from 
his  breast.  Man  at  window  drops  out  of  sight,  the  music 
and  cheers  fade.  Swift's  eyes  close,  his  head  ceases 
to  roll,  the  handkerchief  drops  from  his  hand.  Patrick 
whispers  to  Ford,  who  nods,  Patrick  slouches  quickly  out 
of  door  3.  Ford  and  Richard  draw  nearer.  Swift's 
face  changes  to  a  look  of  peace.  Deep  booming  of 
Cathedral  bell  as — .] 

CURTAIN. 

END  OF  THE  PLAY. 


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